


Return to Me, Space Cowboy

by Moira_Lathal



Series: Starlight Symphony [1]
Category: Cowboy Bebop (Anime)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Development, Cute ass self indulgent soft times, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I had to revamp all my tags bc I got a clearer idea of what the story is, Injury Recovery, One piece of a bigger picture, POV Multiple, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Episode: e026 The Real Folk Blues Part II, Sad with a Happy Ending, Self-Esteem Issues, Spike and Faye are the otp but Jet Ed and Ein get focus in the story as well, Spike x Faye, THESE are accurate to this part of the story, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Whump, Work In Progress, but also quite a bit of fluff, everyone on the Bebop is traumatized one way or another, in parts, main focus tho is Spike and Faye, mixed with Heartache, shameless flirting, this is the goal but this is only one part of the journey shall we say
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:02:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 42
Words: 97,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24655786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moira_Lathal/pseuds/Moira_Lathal
Summary: The duel was over. Spike won.And then he fell.(I've got a tumblr and a spotify playlist for this fic! Check them both out if you want some bonuses of me rambling and the vibe I'm going for with this series)https://thestarlightsymphony.tumblr.com/and https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5VEFXpPaTRNMMwWljPrFr0?si=Bem6Xq8BT22-i56QObC8IQ )
Relationships: Spike Spiegel/Faye Valentine
Series: Starlight Symphony [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1904512
Comments: 345
Kudos: 189





	1. A Pulse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited: 9/  
> Hello! Welcome for the first time, or welcome back! As I write this, I'm currently working on Street Beat Soliloquy, and in my effort to make a thorough and engaging ride, I went back and reread these first three chapters, as well as rewatched the last couple of episodes of Bebop, and I realized... holy shit I got some details wrong SO. I have gone back and more or less completely rewritten Chapters 1-3. FEAR NOT! The content has only changed a little, and they still get to the same place emotionally (more or less) by the time we reach chapter 4. It took some finagling but I'm so fucking happy with these changes that I don't even care.
> 
> To those reading for the first time, again welcome. If there are some weird things throughout that seem like inconsistencies, those are probably changes that I haven't got to atm that I'll edit and put in the notes over time. This is a finished fic, don't get me wrong! It's still comprehensible and (if I might be so bold) pretty dang okay ;)
> 
> To those coming back to see the changes, I wanted to get these chapters a lot closer to where we see the gang at the end of the series emotionally (and literally *side-eyes my original write-through where I forgot that Jet had a whole-ass bullet wound*), and I feel confident in the idea that I've done so. I still have the original draft, but I'mma keep it locked away where it can't hurt me anymore ;D I'd love to hear what you think of the changes, and I can't wait to see you in Street Beat Soliloquy, now that I can FINALLY get back to it!

Faye watched him fall.

She ignored the blip of the com, alerting her to Jet’s continued attempts at contacting her. Instead, she barreled into the wreckage of the Red Dragon’s tower, only barely managing not to scrape the Hammerhead’s wing on protruding scaffolding and cement supports. Spike lay near the top of the stairs, facedown and motionless. Faye made a split decision for the landing; it’d be fucking difficult dragging him _up_ the stairs, but the stunned enforcers at the bottom would become a problem very quickly. The top of the stairs it was.

Hot tears streamed down her cheeks as she stuttered the Hammerhead to a landing, barely avoiding the collapsed form of a white-haired man in a dark coat.

Vicious. A hole in his back right over his heart.

_He did it. It was over._

Faye scrambled from the cockpit, immediately pulling her gun and firing into the crowd of enforcers, one or two of whom were beginning to regain their senses.

“Stay back!” Faye fought to control the waver in her voice as she shouted. “Stay the _fuck_ back, all of you!”

Stumbling down the stairs, she almost tripped when she reached his body. Faye kept her gun pointed towards the bottom of the stairs, using the other to shakily dig under Spike's collar and hold two fingers to his neck. 

There was an agonized pause. His neck was warm, but… she couldn’t find it. There was no steady beat under her fingers.

Faye felt a sob closing her throat, but she refused to let it surface. She momentarily abandoned the distraction down the stairs and scrambled to pull him on his side. His back fell against her knees, and she began to fully grasp the dire situation. A knife, deeply embedded in his shoulder, the stream of scarlet half-caking his face. The left arm she lifted was covered in blood, as was the lower half of his chest; she could just barely see the devastating slice across his abdomen through his tattered suit and shirt. 

Now struggling against her own panic, Faye took his hand with trembling fingers, willing her first try to be wrong.

_“You... fucking liar,”_ she hissed. _“You… you said... y-you weren’t coming here to_ _die_ _.”_

Blood slicked his skin, but she forced her hands to settle, shaking her head to ease the terrified tremors that threatened to overwhelm her. Taking a deep breath, Faye focused and pressed her fingers to his wrist, certain that she had the spot correct this time.

_Please..._

… There. She felt it. It was weak, _agonizingly_ weak, but it was there, struggling under the blood and sweat and ash.

A pulse, faint but existing nonetheless.

Her sigh of relief was short-lived. Faye ripped the coat from around her shoulders, working it under his side and tying it in an attempt to keep pressure on his most gruesome wound. _Good thing it was already red._

Suddenly, shouts and gunfire began to echo around the ravaged top floor. Faye flung herself over Spike’s body, but seconds later she realized the gunshots weren’t targeted up towards them. She glanced down into the crowd; there were many more people in the building, strangers all in dark suits slightly different from the Dragons, but they were all suddenly firing at each other. It was as if they’d forgotten the pair on the stairs.

Faye didn’t know why and she didn’t care as she pulled Spike fully on his back; a glance to his leg revealed another injury, a crippling slash across his thigh. There seemed to be blood everywhere, staining his suit, his shirt, her hands, but she couldn’t think as she pulled him into a sitting position. His head lolled forward, and a faint breath escaped his lips.

Fueled by a healthy dose of adrenaline, Faye as she worked her arm under his shoulder, still attempting to hold a gun on the enforcers down the stairs. One she recognized as a Red Dragon had broken off, and was attempting to climb the stairs, but she put a bullet easily between his eyes.

By some miracle she was able to drag Spike up the stairs, heart pounding as she felt Spike’s blood leaking through his coat onto her skin. The flight pod was still open, and she nearly screamed, struggling to pull his limp body into the orb. His thin frame was a sudden gift in the cramped space; Faye would have been grateful if not for the red smears on the glass reminding her of his critical condition. One or two gunshots struck the Hammerhead as she brought it into the air, but it wasn't enough to stop her easing out into the sky and shooting off in the direction of the grounded Bebop. Fighting to slow her breathing, Faye finally accepted the call from Jet.

_“DAMN IT FAYE---”_

Jet’s irate barrage stopped short as Spike’s head lolled against Faye’s shoulder.

_“Oh god.”_

“H-he’s still alive,” Faye snapped, eyes flitting between the horizon and the tiny com screen. “He’s alive but h-he’s lost a lot of blood and there’s still a knife in his f-fucking shoulder and I can’t take him to the _hospital_ because th-they saw me take him, I-I don’t want to risk it---”

_“Hold on, slow down. What happened?”_

“Those R-Red Dragon bastards, Jet! He was taking down th-the whole fucking syndicate and V… Vicious is dead, he w- _won_ but he’s _dying_ and I---”

_“I’m sending you a location,”_ Jet interrupted, grunting as he moved on the other side of the call. _“There’s a doctor we can trust nearby, should be close enough.”_

The monitor blinked and Faye shifted towards the new destination. “Th-thanks,” she muttered, reaching out a hand long enough to adjust Spike against her side. His breath was shallow, too shallow as she sped across the Martian city.

_“... I can’t help you, Faye. The Bebop’s still landlocked, and the Redtail’s going to take a day_ **_minimum_ ** _to get in the air---”_

“D-don’t fucking care,” she murmured, the tears finally easing even as her voice continued to tremble. “I-I can get there on my o-own.”

Jet’s heavy sigh crackled over the com. _“... He might not make it this time. You know that... right?”_

Ignoring the question, Faye clicked off the com and glared off into the night.

_He’ll make it._

_He_ **_has_ ** _to._

_He… he said he wasn't going there to die._

Faye bit her lip, determination boiling in her chest as she shot onward towards his last hope at survival.

Spike would live.

She’d kill him if he didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (these are my OG notes from when i first wrote this; i'mma leave them here)
> 
> This fic woke me up this morning. I might post two more chapters today, who knows.
> 
> Also this is a weirdly paced fic I know, but it felt right to end it where I did, considering what comes next.
> 
> I'll get back to More or Less soon, I just had to write this bc I just watched Cowboy Bebop for the first time in my entirely life and it has been a LONG time since an ending has hit me that hard. Edit: lol this was a fuckin lie
> 
> It was the right ending. It was the just and satisfying ending. I couldn't fight it if I wanted to.
> 
> .... Unless?


	2. The Capsule

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All they need is a miracle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited: 9/3
> 
> Hello again ;)  
> You can probably figure out the big changes from just a look, but yeah I remembered that the Bebop was still grounded so Jet's kinda stuck. *jazz hands for bad memory*  
> This one isn't as heavily edited as the first chapter (seeing as the first chapter needed a COMPLETE rewrite), and I was grateful to be able to save some moments here.

Faye stared numbly at the doctor’s back as he finished dressing the wound on Spike’s leg. The room was deadly quiet save for the shifting of the bandages, the flickering electricity of the fluorescent lights, and Spike’s painfully quiet breathing. 

The bounty hunter in question remained still and pale as death, his upper body and left leg a mess of red-tinged bandages and stinking of medical foam. A half-empty blood bag hung near his shoulder, replacing what he’d lost in transit through the tube connected to his arm. Spike’s heart had stopped twice in the first hours of frantic surgery; Faye had assisted the doctor as best she could, fighting back horrified tears as the defibrillator jolted Spike’s chest. They’d been able to stabilize him both times, but it was a tense battle to stitch him back together before his pulse gave out entirely.

In order to fully tend to the wound on his head, the doctor had taken a razor to his hair; the end result left him properly sutured and totally lopsided, but Faye didn’t have the energy to find the visual funny. An oxygen mask covered his mouth and nose, fogging slightly every time he took a breath.

Faye had seen him like this before, after free-falling from the top of that chapel months prior, or the disastrous first meeting with Pierrot. Those wounds had seemed bigger and deeper, yet he’d fully recovered to squabble and laze around another day. Here, lying on this dingy cot in the office of some nobody doctor in a corner clinic somewhere on Mars, he seemed more pale, more thin, more frail than before.

Spike Spiegel had never looked frail a day she’d known him.

It gutted her to see him like this, the careless, stuck-up asshole.

_God I wish he’d wake up._

The doctor removed his third pair of bloodied gloves and stood, tossing them absently into the trash. He nodded, and Faye dialed the Bebop. Instantly, Jet’s face filled the com screen. She angled it towards the doctor, unable to meet the poorly concealed worry in Jet’s eyes.

_“How is he?”_

“He’s stable for now, but there’s something happening internally that I can’t quite identify,” he sighed, washing his hands in the room’s sink. “For one, that artificial right eye? It’s… busted or something. I don’t know if it short-circuited, didn’t know the things were capable of it, but whatever the case, it’s shot. You might be able to reactivate it, but that could take a whole surgery that I’m not qualified to conduct and _you_ probably don’t have the woolong to invest in.”

_“The bastard can live without one eye,”_ Jet muttered, _“if he lives at all.”_

The doctor busied himself wiping his hands but remained facing away. “That brings me to my second point. Spike’s a fighter, you know that as well as I, but that doesn’t seem to be enough this time. The hit on his skull must have rattled him deep. It might’ve even been the eye. I wouldn’t be able to tell if it’s psychological or more without a brain scan, but it certainly shook something loose. There’s a piece of him that’s already given up, and it’s only a matter of time before that fight comes to a conclusion. The only thing we can do out here is help his body’s healing as quickly as we can, and hope that’s enough to bring him around.”

Jet sighed heavily. _“It’s not going to be as easy as getting some under-the-counter meds and a couple nights sleep, is it?”_

The doctor abruptly turned, snatching the communicator from Faye’s hand and staring at the screen. “A couple nights--- Jet, you don’t understand. My next recommendation is to put him in a medically induced coma, or pray for a miracle. The man is _dying_ , Jet. He’s fighting, sure, but he’s _losing_. The more time he spends like this, the less his chances.”

The room was washed in dangerous silence. Sighing wearily, the doctor pinched his nose. “There may be a possibility that cryogenically freezing him would give his mind a fighting chance, but---”

“We’re not freezing him,” Faye spat, her voice hoarse. It was the first time she’d spoken since dragging Spike through the door hours ago. “I lost my whole past that way; he’s not getting out of this that easily.”

_“... Doc, give us a hand here. Please. Anything else you can think of to save this asshole?”_

Handing the communicator back to Faye, the doctor paced slowly at the foot of the cot, thinking. Oxygen continued to pump through Spike’s mask, keeping him breathing even as his body steadily declined. Finally, the doctor turned, his face grim.

“There is... one thing,” the doctor said, finally. “An experimental medical capsule, new to the field as far as I’m aware. An acquaintance has been telling me of its potential. Supposedly it’s designed for all kinds of bodily rehabilitation, and its function to hold a patient in stasis for extended amounts of time is a breakthrough in how we approach coma patient recovery. It’s new technology to the market, not many hospitals even have access to it, and even fewer practicing physicians know about them, but the potential for extraordinary injury restoration makes it a lucrative---”

“Sounds great, doc,” Faye murmured. “Skip to the point. What’s the hitch?”

The doctor crossed his arms, leaning heavily against the counter. “Like I said, it’s experimental. This acquaintance… is looking for a test subject.”

Jet snorted. _“Test subject? You mean the thing isn’t guaranteed to work?”_

“The original technician for the project wasn’t exactly… forthcoming with details, and the exchange was not exactly legal. He promised full rights to the data for one large payment, dumped the capsule on my associate, and then ran. Nobody on the team realized it was half-functional until its network crashed and the thing went dead. They were able to bring it online again, but… he’s been hesitant to put more, ah, stable patients in it to try again.”

Faye’s eyes rose in a venomous glare. “So you figure what better way to see if it works than on a dying man?”

The doctor turned away. The trio grew deadly quiet. Finally, the communicator in Faye’s hand crackled with static as Jet sighed. _“Fuck it. What do we have to do?”_

The doctor pulled his own phone from his pocket and began sorting through numbers. “Give me a moment, I’ll contact him and direct him your way. Be warned, although he’s eager for a subject, I doubt he’ll be willing to part with it easily. It might take a... down payment of some kind. Life comes at a price.”

Hesitating at the door, he glanced over his shoulder. “If this works, I suggest you get the hell off Mars, and fast.”

Faye narrowed her eyes, rubbing her arm wearily. “Why?”

“Major syndicate goes down in one night? It’s all over the news, and… a whole lot of people watched what went down. CBC got hold of some security footage before someone shot out the last camera still functioning on the top floor. It only took _me_ a minute to recognize that mop of his. I was wondering if he survived when you drug him through the door. The Dragons may be in tatters, but that doesn’t mean you, or he, are any safer. Just… be prepared to run as soon as you can.”

With that, he ducked out of the room, closing the door quickly behind him. Faye glared at Spike’s devastated body, forgetting the com still active in her hand until Jet coughed. “What?” she asked, refusing to meet his eyes.

_“Get some rest, Faye. You look like hell.”_

Faye grunted. “Gee, thanks. I’ll rest when I’m--- when _we’re_ back on the Bebop. You deal with the doc and this 'capsule'; I’m gonna make sure dickhead’s heart doesn’t stop. _Again_.”

With that, Faye cut the call, shoving the communicator back in her pocket. She shuffled out her pack, shakily lighting a cigarette and taking several deep pulls before closing her eyes. Exhaustion shook her limbs, her own body begging her to take Jet’s advice and rest for a while, but she forced herself to open her eyes again, if just to confirm the weak rise and fall of Spike’s chest.

What little hope she had left, she sent towards the doctor in the other room, speaking to yet another stranger and willing this stupid mystery miracle to work.

It _had_ to.

……………………………………….

“Are you insane?” Jet growled, hobbling as he stood in frustration. “That much for a piece of technology that might not even _work?_ ”

_“Hey pal, I’m not risking any more hit-and-runners on this thing,”_ came the terse reply. _“You wanna save this friend of yours or not?”_

Jet forced himself to take a deep breath, before easing himself back down to the couch. It’d been an hour of anxious waiting before he’d received the call from the half-asleep, rather disgruntled physician. He’d been straightforward about the details, although a more accurate description would be blunt. Four months of use, with a hefty deposit of fifty million woolong. If they returned the pod in four months with data intact, they’d get half their deposit back. Biting back a curse, Jet eyed the communicator in his hand. “I… is there any way you can cut me some slack? My ship’s dead in the water as it is, and most of my money is going towards repairs---”

_“The lowest I can go is forty mil, but you’d only get fifteen back. You’re not the only one whose pockets are empty. Either take the deal or don’t, just make up your mind fast. Sounds like a life's on the line that has about as much time as my patience, which is wearing_ **_dangerously_ ** _thin.”_

“Alright, alright, just… give me a minute.”

Jet turned the communicator aside and buried his face in his hand. He’d barely had a chance to take full stock of the Bebop’s repairs; even with the discount, this crapshoot of a gamble would eat through his already meager funds. There was no cushion in the vault, and even if there was, there was no guarantee that this _would_ even save his life...

_And why should he bother anyway? They’d made peace. Said goodbye, or as good as. He’d let Spike go, and that had been that. Faye’d made the frantic dash after him,_ **_not_ ** _Jet. This should have been the last---_

**_Could_ ** _have been the last time._

 _  
__  
__But it wasn’t. Not yet._

The image of Spike’s slack face covered in blood ran like lightning through his mind. Faye’s bloodshot eyes and forced scowl trying to hide the terror in her voice. The two of them, always a bother, always coming back and landing him in more trouble than they were worth.

Jet glanced around the empty living area, taking in for the hundredth time how blissfully quiet it was.

Not a soul in sight, not even the memory of sound drifted through the Bebop’s halls.

With a grunt, Jet flipped the communicator over and met the physician’s irritated gaze. “ If I could scrounge up forty-three mil, think you’d be willing to drop it off?”

\----

The exchange was fairly painless. Though the leading physician grumbled the entire time, his team was a little kinder, going over the capsule’s functions and laying out necessary instructions to keep it stabilized.

Jet handled directing the unloading by himself. Faye was currently passed out in the living area next to the couch where Spike lay, pale and swathed in bandages. She’d barely managed to drag him out of the Hammerhead on her return a couple hours prior before she collapsed out of exhaustion. The mad scramble that followed tore at Jet’s already shredded nerves as he tried to stem the bleeding from multiple ripped stitches.

He’d been able to shake Faye awake long enough to get her help lifting Spike up the stairs and down the hall, though it was a struggle between Jet’s still-injured leg and Faye’s staggering footsteps. The moment Spike was safely spread out and the bleeding somewhat abated, she’d curled up on the floor and was asleep in seconds. She was still covered in a significant amount of dried blood, but Jet let her be for the moment as he prepared for the mysterious package.

Jet guided the placement of the capsule in through the open hangar doors; what with the Swordfish abandoned somewhere in Tharsis, they had the room to spare. They asked multiple times if he needed assistance with establishing the patient’s vitals, but Jet merely waved them off, insisting his crew was more than enough to handle what was needed.  
  
He avoided any mention of who the capsule was needed for, deflecting or changing the subject whenever asked for specifications. The group didn’t appear to have any syndicate or even ISSP ties, but he didn’t want to take any chances.

Only when the medical team finally departed was Jet able to breathe a short sigh of relief. Then it was immediately back to business, waking up Faye and convincing her to groggily make the same painful trek back to the hangar. Spike hung limply between them, feet dragging along the floor; instead of deathly cold, his skin was too warm now, but there wasn’t even a shiver to indicate he was alive enough to register his own fever.

The doctor had already taken scissors to Spike’s tattered suit in order to get at his injuries; Jet and Faye had little to do to strip the remainder before lowering him gently into the medical capsule. The interior was sleek and streamlined, obviously designed with aesthetics as well as comfort in mind. It was filled about halfway with a clear blue gel, reeking of some kind of sanitizer. A row of soft white lights lined the bottom of the interior, just below the gel’s surface. From the front half, a foam cushion extended, almost like a pillow. When they lowered Spike’s head to it, the cushion sunk until his face was just above the gel, before stiffening and settling, adjusting automatically to even the slightest movement.

Leaning over the open pod, Faye pulled the provided oxygen mask over his mouth and nose, securing it carefully under his chin. His face was still, almost serene surrounded by the glowing gel. Jet pulled open a side compartment and pulled out an IV needle, pushing it gingerly into Spike’s feverish skin. He tapped at the medical readouts lining the outside of the capsule, and they began to glow with information.

“Well, it seems to be working,” he said gruffly, standing and stretching with a groan. “Heartbeat, brainwaves, whatever, it’s all there. Seems to be reading his fever and adjusting to compensate. It’s not a lot, but… enough for now.”

Faye nodded silently, a hand resting gently on Spike’s forehead. Jet threw her a sideways glance. She hadn’t spoken since coming back, and from the blank look in her eyes, it didn’t seem like she was going to anytime soon. After a minute or two, Jet sighed. “Listen, Faye… we’ve, uh… we’ve gotta figure out our next move. We’re broke, and if we want to get the hell off Mars _and_ stay fed, we’re still going to have to get some work.”

There was no response as Faye continued to stare down into the pod, Spike’s faint breathing the only sound between them. Jet rubbed the back of his neck with a grunt. “... But I guess that can wait until tomorrow. We’ve gotta close the cap for now; those doctors assured me he’ll be fine.”

Jet kept to himself the tense last words the leading physician had given to him before the team’s final departure…

_“From what I gathered before that bastard split is that the capsule has three programmed phases: initial recovery, motor function reactivation, and neurological stimulation. Basically keeps his heart going, gets his nerves back in order, and then wakes up his brain. It’s hard to tell how long each phase could take, but here’s a word of warning: if he doesn’t regain consciousness in four weeks, he’s as good as dead. I’ll still want four months of data; you’d be surprised how much you can still glean about healing from a corpse.”_

Jet curled his hands into fists, still wishing he’d decked the physician instead of barking at him to get the hell off his ship. Taking a deep breath, he placed a tentative hand on Faye’s shoulder. “Hey… go get cleaned up. I’m gonna go make us some coffee. It’s… it’s been a _long_ couple of days.”

Wordlessly, Faye nodded again. She straightened up and, with one last look inside the pod, pulled the lid down to snap it shut. 

Jet pretended not to see the way her shoulders began to tremble as she stared down at the capsule, turning away and leaving her to walk away in her own time.

He made his way to the galley, lighting a cigarette and relishing the burning smoke in his lungs. As the coffee began to drip, his mind wandered back to the hangar. Jet shuddered at the thought of the capsule. It hummed with energy, but, when it came down to it, was cold and clean and devoid of all life.

Knowing what lay inside, he couldn’t shake the feeling of what it _really_ looked like. To his eyes, that pod holding the life of his friend in its hands looked nothing like a medical experiment, or even a miracle.

It merely looked like a coffin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, the fake science is still to the rescue! But it's BETTER this time! Hell yeah!
> 
> Also considered changing the title to "McGuffin Mayhem" but i thought that'd be too on the nose ;D


	3. Waiting Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thus proceeded three weeks of waiting.
> 
> The weeks are filled with moments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited: 9/3
> 
> This change was more of a personal preference to get a timeline situated. The original was five weeks, but that's... SO fucking long, my dudes, and the future of this fic kinda stems on me establishing a coherent timeline. So three weeks it is.

**Week 1**

Two mornings after the miracle pod’s acquisition, Spike’s heartbeat flat-lined. It was only for a moment; the pod sent an immediate pulse through the gel, and the heart monitor read the return of his faint heartbeat within seconds.

That still didn’t do Jet and Faye’s emotional states any favors.

Jet spent most of his time repairing the Bebop, while Faye combed the bounty listings for easy money. It was obvious she didn’t get much sleep that first week, and she didn’t speak much either, only to tell Jet she was off to catch a bounty or to check on the hangar. She never said Spike’s name, or even mentioned the pod, only that she was going to the hangar.

Faye spent a lot of time in the hangar.

The pod remained sealed, for the most part. There was little point opening it; the readouts gave immediate updates in the event of a sizable change to his physical stability, of which there was none.

Nevertheless, Faye opened the capsule on occasion, just to confirm what she knew with her own eyes. She watched his sleeping form, floating limply as the medicinal gel washed over each defined muscle. Her eyes swept over his chest, taking in every scar, every bandage, every inch of pale skin. 

Late in the week, she felt his forehead and grimaced; his skin was still hot to the touch. The pod had not yet managed to reduce his stubborn fever, but it kept it from worsening. Faye took a deep breath, pushing an unsteady hand through his unruly hair.

_Fight, you idiot. Fight and live._

Jet wandered into the hangar hours later to find Faye dozing against the closed capsule, her hand resting against the miracle machine just below Spike’s heartbeat. 

…………………………………………….

**Week 2**

Spike’s fever broke eight days in. It lasted much longer than a fever should, but Faye and Jet were just relieved to know he was improving.

After some final adjustments, Jet was able to get Bebop in the air again, and he set a course immediately for Earth. There hadn’t been any unusual updates from any of his ISSP contacts, and though the news continued to bleed the public’s interest dry with dwindling news of the Red Dragon’s downfall, nothing had yet reached them that anyone knew of Spike’s survival.

More than a little relieved, Jet made his way down to the hangar to check on the capsule, only to find Faye already standing over it with the lid open. As he approached, it was impossible to miss the sad longing in her eyes as she gazed down at Spike’s slack face.

Something had been awakened suddenly and violently, the day Spike had left. The day he’d almost died. Jet watched silently, pretending not to see something growing in Faye’s weary eyes.

Coughing to alert her of his presence, Jet approached and knelt down to tap at the medical readouts.

“His brain activity’s increasing,” he said after a moment. “That’s gotta be a good sign.”

Faye hummed listlessly. It was the most emotion he’d gotten out of her in days, and Jet took the moment to ask a question that’d been eating at him for some time.

“Why’d you do it, Faye?”

“What?”

The fact that she replied at all was another positive sign, but Jet didn’t smile as he glanced towards her and pushed onward in his question. “Why’d you go after him? Don’t get me wrong, I’m… I’m glad you did, but… why?”

She didn’t turn to face him, instead leaning forward and running her fingers lightly through Spike’s hair. Jet watched the motion with surprise, but kept his mouth shut, fearing she might break if he spoke again. It was a delicate moment, uncertainty riding on the heavy question.

Faye finally pulled her arm from the pod and shifted to face him. “This ship was the only thing I had to come back to, when I got my memories back,” she murmured, barely meeting his eyes before dropping her gaze to the floor. “Just this dumb ship and… and you two.”

Jet waited patiently as Faye paused, turning to close the capsule lid and seal it once again over Spike’s body. “... I’m done losing things, Jet. I’m not losing him, too.”

Faye pushed past Jet and tread quietly up the stairs, leaving him to ponder her words and stare down at his own hands in the silence.

…………………………………………….

**Week Three**

Spike’s muscle definition gradually began to fade. The medical capsule was able to keep his body fed, so to speak, as well as break down and expose of waste , but there was nothing it could do to retain his strength. The more time went on, the more he looked like just another thin, weak man. 

One afternoon, Faye left to scrounge up some food, while Jet worked on maintenance for the Hammerhead. It was mildly comforting, being able to keep busy and still be within eyeshot of the damn medical pod. He was just finishing up recalibrating some sensors underneath the right wing when a sudden beeping caught his attention.

Jet’s blood ran cold as he looked over his shoulder towards the sound. It originated from the capsule; even from this distance, he could see the readout, currently a mess of flashing red and blue lights. He struggled to his feet and bolted towards it, hands shaking as he tugged open the lid. 

“Spike?”

Spike’s body convulsed feebly, sending ripples across the gel’s surface. Tremors shot through him, his back arching weakly as muscles contracted. Jet crouched, eyes scanning the readout frantically.

**Beta Model: Phase One complete. Now initiating motor function rehabilitation. Patient may experience some distress as pain receptors reactivate. Upon approval from the acting physician, sedation is recommended.**

Jet’s fingers flew across the readout, confirming sedation without hesitation. Inside the pod, Spike’s body began to settle, one or two last tremors running through him before he lay completely still once more.

Jet pulled a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it and taking a deep drag to settle his racing heart.

That evening, Faye returned with both a bounty and groceries collected. Jet didn’t fully explain the incident, only mentioning lightly that the capsule had entered its second phase and that there was some progress to Spike’s recovery.

He didn’t have the heart to make her worry more.

Spike’s wounds healed painfully slowly. Faye insisted on trimming the hair around his head wound short to keep an eye on the injury. The bullet and knife wounds gradually began to scar, but the sword slice across his abdomen was deep; no matter how gently they redressed it, a trickle of blood began to flow anew.

Through it all, Spike slept on.

…………………………………………….

**The beginning of Week Four**

“Leave him be, he’s already gonna kill us for what Doc did as it is.”

Faye shook the electric razor defensively. “Oh shut up, it was necessary and you know it. I’m just trying to make it even!”

“Fuck, Faye,” Jet replied with a grunt, “leave him with what little dignity he has left!”

They knelt together beside the couch in the living area, Spike’s limp form laid out before them. The capsule had given instruction to remove the patient for a minor recalibration, assuring them that due to Phase One’s completion, he was out of harm’s way for the most part and could survive the minor removal. Though neither made mention of it, Jet could tell both he and Faye were relieved to be free of the cold machine for at least a little while.

Spike’s head and shoulders were supported by a collection of pillows at the very edge of the couch, just close enough to leave his unruly hair hanging just over the shoulder. Faye had been threatening all morning to cut his hair even more than the small trimmings around his head wound; after ‘stumbling’ upon Jet’s razor, she was dangerously close to following through.

Jet smirked at Faye’s furious tirade. She’d regained a bit of her fire recently, especially with the return of movement to Spike’s form, even if it was unconscious. They talked more, as well, just small talk about nothing, but it was leagues above the silence that had dwelt like a cloud over the Bebop for so long.

Jet’s smile faded, replaced by a tug of melancholy as he looked into Spike’s still face.

Three weeks of waiting. Three weeks without his lazy grin, his sarcastic responses, any sign that he was still alive except his weak heartbeat and shuddering breaths. The closer the four week mark drew, the tighter Jet’s chest became. Spike’s brain activity was slowly increasing, but that didn’t confirm he’d actually ever regain consciousness.

Jet was so tired of waiting. As he watched Faye take the first hesitant clip of hair, he could tell that she was tired of waiting, too. 

But they would keep on waiting. Jet had already made the decision not to tell Faye of the time limit, because he knew Spike too well to believe he’d lose this fight. He refused to believe it.

No matter how long it took, they would see him again.

So they kept on waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *exhausted sigh* ALRIGHT. WE'RE CAUGHT UP AGAIN. FUCK.
> 
> I also wanted to... slow down Faye's shift a bit, as it were, and explore a bit better where her headspace is, moving forward. When I first watched Bebop and made a MAD scramble to fucking restart Spike's heart anyway I could, I originally focused on Faye's initial grieving first, as we see her openly crying in the hall of the Bebop when he left.
> 
> The more I rewrote these chapters, however, the more I realized I Rushed her forgiving him leaving and jumping instantly into "oh what are these feelings so sudden and new?" I'm out to create a damn slow burn, and I gotta Earn that slow burn proper and really explore these characters how they Are, not how I want them to be As Quickly As Possible. So I relented and let her take the lead, and she told me Instantly that she was fucking Torn and didn't know HOW to feel, at first. Like, she saved him... on instinct. And then she gave me this fucking nugget in this chapter as to WHY she saved him.
> 
> Before, the why felt obvious, but Faye (the beautiful bitch) insisted /I/ actually understand it and put a name to it. So boom, that middle convo with Jet. Frantic inspiration that I'm so glad occurred to me.
> 
> also i understand the function of the pod better and now it doesn't sound As Much Like "lol writer trying to write science who Defo Doesn't understand it". Weeeee! Thanks for reading! Or re-reading!


	4. Floating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spike Spiegel was floating. 
> 
> The world was white, and cold, and breathless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The formatting for this chapter is a little different. The visuals have been burning a hole into my brain; I hope I was able to capture what I've been imagining!

White light.

Spike was drifting. Floating. 

He knew the feeling of drifting through space. Weightless. Calm. 

This was different. In space, there was the suit rubbing against his skin, his own breath against the glass of his helmet. Here, he felt nothing. There was no sensation but floating.

Weightless. 

Breathless. 

Floating.

  
  
  


…………………………………………….

  
  
  


He felt his own heartbeat first. It was weak, he could tell. It beat nonetheless. His own pulse echoed through his mind, a faint rhythm that entranced him.

He was still floating.

Everything was white.

He couldn’t see.

_Do I still have eyes in this place?_ He thought vaguely.

He could think again.

Before, it was just floating.

  
  


…………………………………………….

  
  


His pulse grew stronger. Or… it grew louder. Spike doubted it had anything to do with his strength. He’d bled that away on some faraway staircase.

It was dark now. There was still white light.

He was still floating. 

Something moved around his face, his chest, his legs. He couldn’t feel it. Or could he?

He didn’t altogether care too much.

Too much thinking and he might feel it.

_Feel what?_

Something about his chest. If he thought about it, he felt it. He saw it. A flash of silver, a splash of red. Pain. If he thought about it, he felt it.

He stopped thinking about it. He couldn’t feel a thing anyway.

It was so quiet. His pulse grew stronger. He could feel it, just under his skin. If he’d had any strength of his own, he’d have sighed. But he’d bled that away on some faraway staircase.

  
  


…………………………………………….

  
  
  


_“His brain activity’s increasing. That’s gotta be a good sign.”_

A voice? Did he know it?

Something was pressed into his cheeks, digging into the bridge of his nose, clamped securely under his chin. It was cold. It was helping.

He was breathing.

_Was I breathing before?_

He was thinking again. Another subconscious sigh.

It was exhausting, thinking. He just wanted to sleep.

He wanted to float.

_Do I know that voice?_

All was white, and dark, and weightless.

  
  


…………………………………………….

  
  
  


Everything ached.

He couldn’t help but think about it now. It was everywhere. His chest, his arms, his face.

He couldn’t move, but it ached. His left side screamed. His arm screamed. If he’d had the strength, he’d have screamed.

He didn’t have the strength.

His pulse was steady. The pain was growing. He just wanted to go back to sleep.

_Have I been sleeping?_

The floating turned to static in the pain. He couldn’t see. What he wouldn’t give to see so he could stop the aching.

Spike was falling again.

He couldn’t think.

He couldn’t see.

Everything was white, and cold, and aching.

He stopped thinking. He kept floating.

  
  


…………………………………………….

  
  


Water. Or mud. Gel?

Spike gazed hazily at the words, watching them float by like lazy clouds.

His eyes were closed. He still couldn’t see.

Something still moved around his body. He felt it. It was gel. It was cold.

It was helping.

It soothed the aching. The pain.

The aching was returning with his thoughts.

_Shit_.

Something pressed into his face, around his mouth and nose. It was helping. He focused on his pulse, his breathing.

He was breathing. It was helping.

Something new touched his forehead. Something soft. Something gentle. It brushed across his face, soothing, gentle.

He wanted to see it, whatever it was.

He kept floating.

  
  


…………………………………………….

  
  
  


Everything was dark. There was a white light.

His thoughts shifted. Something was different.

For the first time in eons, Spike blinked.

It was small. Barely noticeable. It was more of a weak flutter of his lids than a blink. His eyes couldn’t open fully. He didn’t have the strength.

He blinked again. 

Something was wrapped around his chest, his side, his head. He was floating in something. Above his head, darkness stretched for eternity. Soft white light pulsed in his peripheral.

He strained to bring his eyes down. The effort sent a shooting pain through his brain. He could only glimpse his left side. It was blurry, much further away than he figured it should be. Something was wrapped around his chest, and his arm. His arm was floating, too.

His body was floating in something. 

Gel. It felt cool, and soothing. His face floated just above the surface. He could feel something pressed against the back of his head and his shoulders. Supporting him. Keeping his face just above the surface.

He wanted to see more. 

He couldn’t move his head. Too heavy. Too hazy. Everything ached.

He’d been thinking a lot. It was exhausting. But…

He wanted to try moving. To do _something_.

Something small. Just movement. Maybe...

Slowly, he tensed the muscles in his arm, trying to lift it.

Pain shot unforgiving through his body. His arm felt like it was being sliced apart with knives. His chest was on fire. Pain. Fucking _pain_.

Stars began to pop in his eyes, so he shut them. He couldn’t move anymore, it hurt too much. It hurt before and it hurt now but it was worse, so, _so_ much worse.

It was agony and it was _everywhere._

If he’d had the strength, he would have screamed.

His concentration began to fade in a sea of agony and lights. Beyond his eyelids, the lights brightened with a suddenness that would have made him flinch, if only he could move. 

But he couldn’t move.

He could barely breathe.

_“Spike?”_

_A voice._

_Do I know that voice?_

He wanted to open his eyes. It was too bright beyond his lids.

His pulse beat a despondent rhythm into his skull. Something changed. 

He could feel his breathing.

He was breathing something new. It was calming. It was numbing. 

Something new was pulsing in his veins. It was numbing. It was helping.

The pain began to fade. Slowly, everything began to fade.

He welcomed the shutting down of his senses; he felt his own consciousness blinking out like a star.

He didn’t have to think for a while.

He was simply f l o a t i n g . . .

  
  


…………………………………………….

  
  
  


“Leave him be, he’s already gonna kill us for what Doc did as it is.”

“Oh shut up, it was necessary and you know it. I’m just trying to make it even!”

“Fuck, Faye, leave him with what little dignity he has left!”

The voices were loud, like pots being hammered against his skull. There was a buzzing, too. Buzzing and voices mingled incoherently. It was so fucking loud.

Spike sighed. He just wanted to sleep.

The voices and buzzing stopped abruptly. 

Slowly, his senses flickered on. Something was different.

He was prone. He was no longer floating, but resting on something. That something was solid, and soft. 

His legs wouldn’t respond, but he could feel them. He could feel his legs for the first time in eons. They existed.

He existed.

It was exhausting to think about.

Everything still ached. He couldn’t remember a time before the aching. But, strangely, it had lessened. Something was wrapped around his chest, his arm, his head. His collarbone gave a whimper in pain.

_I don’t remember it being able to do that before._

“Jet---”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve got him.”

A hand slipped under his head and lifted. It was cold and smooth. Metal. And not as gentle as it could have been.

His neck began to scream.

_Ow._

Spike flinched at the movement, but couldn’t do much else. He didn't have the strength. He bled that away on some faraway staircase.

_Staircase._

_Vicious._

_He’s dead._

_Did I die?_

_… Am I alive?_

“Spike?”

The voice was soft, and gentle. He didn’t remember it being so gentle.

He fought against his eyelids, but they wouldn't open. He wanted to see. To not be so fucking helpless.

The floating feeling swept over him with a wave of nausea. 

He didn’t want to float anymore.

A gentle hand caressed his cheek.

“Spike, can you hear me?”

He would have killed a man to be able to move.

Fingers brushed his eye. His left eye. With delicate pressure, he felt his lid being pulled open. It was way too fucking bright; he flinched but couldn’t do much else. The world was blurry and bright and he couldn’t move for shit.

The world was blurry and purple.

“Spike, buddy, it’s us.”

“Spike, listen to me, can you hear me?”

He stared dully ahead as the world shifted in and out of focus. The world was a face, framed in purple. He registered those green eyes, vaguely recalling how last time they were filled with so much anger. They were filled now with something else. Something new. 

He knew this face.

How did he know this face?

Another face hovered just out of view. Spike could just make out the beard, the wide concerned eyes, the tight frown.

He knew that face, too.

Tears began to leak from the sad green eyes, running down over the dark bags beneath. 

_They both look so tired. So worn. So relieved._

_I know them.. right?_

Spike wanted to scream. He wanted to let them know he could hear them. That he was listening.

His consciousness began fading again. The faces were blurring and growing dark.

He wanted to tell them he was listening.

Slowly, vacantly, with the energy it took to fight ten men with his bare hands, Spike blinked.

It was small. Barely noticeable. But he blinked.

The faces gasped. Then, the beard began to laugh. It was loud, and grating, and annoying. The green eyes filled with more tears and the face framed in purple choked back a sob, but she was smiling.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, cowboy.”

Spike tried to blink again, but his eye shut permanently against his will. His weakness overcame his temporary focus, and he slipped back into unconsciousness.

It was dark again. He was floating again.

The world was dark.

But Spike Spiegel was alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Was The First Chapter I Wrote. I Have Been Waiting All Week To Post This.
> 
> Thank You For Reading. I Am Happy.


	5. Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jet and Faye ride the high of one sleepy blink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three chapters in the span of twenty minutes? It's more likely than you think.
> 
> Especially when the author writes them all in the wrong order and, when she finally finishes the connecting chapter, can't help but to throw them all out into the world at the same time.
> 
> Chapter summaries are hard.

It was another three days before Spike gained any semblance of consciousness again, but that first step was all it took to put Faye and Jet into higher spirits. 

Who’d have thought one tiny blink could bring so much hope to two exhausted bounty hunters?

They’d brought him to the living room, giving him some air outside the pod and themselves time away from the hangar. Jet insisted on working him into a pair of shorts for decency’s sake, in case he awoke again. It was a trivial gesture at this point, but Jet stubbornly stood by a man’s right to keep his business to himself.

Faye rolled her eyes, but helped him nonetheless.

Spike's quiet breathing punctuated the stillness as they sat down to eat. Jet settled in the armchair directly across from the couch, and Faye curled up on the floor, head resting gently against the couch by Spike’s hand.

They liked to keep an eye on him in their own ways.

Jet glanced up over his food at Faye. She twirled a finger through her hair absently, flipping through some fashion magazine. After the incident three days prior, she’d slept for twelve hours; it was the first good night’s sleep she’d had in the past month.

Jet smiled slightly to himself. _How people change,_ he thought, reminiscing their first meeting with the hot-headed young con artist. She’d tried to fight Spike, wormed her way onto their ship, and slowly, steadily, worked her way into their hearts.

Not that Jet or Spike would have admitted it.

Not that they ever would.

Although, now…

Jet dropped his eyes to his food. _People change._

He’d let Spike go, that day. It was his choice to go alone. It was something he’d had to do.

Seeing his friend like this made Jet realize it was the greatest regret of his life. Watching these two, he felt a fondness, and a protectiveness. They could handle themselves, sure… But they were his family.

_They shouldn’t have to be alone. No one should._

They might try and go their separate ways again, but Jet would follow next time. _Fuck their choices. They were his family, and he’d be damned if he let them get away again, pretending they needed to be alone._

He glanced up absently and nearly choked on a mouthful of peppers.

Spike’s eyes were open.

Well, they were half open. But they were open.

He was staring groggily at the back of Faye’s head, his blinks sluggish and uneven. Jet waited hesitantly, wondering if this was just another few seconds of clarity before his friend fell back into unconsciousness. 

Spike continued to blink slowly and deliberately at the back of Faye’s head. A haze was flickering in and out of his working eye.

He was genuinely awake, as much as his weak form would allow.

Jet set his plate of peppers down slowly, trying to keep his voice level and low. “Faye…”

She nodded without looking up. “Hm? What? I’ll eat my peppers and no beef when I’m good and ready.”

“Faye, he’s awake.”

Faye’s eyes flew open as she whirled around to face the couch. Spike squinted blearily at her.

Jet nearly threw himself over the coffee table to grab Faye’s arm as she shrieked and made a move to throw herself on top of Spike.

“Faye,” he growled, keeping a tight grip on her arm, “if you crush him, and he dies of shock, I will _personally_ kill you. Now sit the fuck down and _calm_ the fuck down.”

Faye glared at him, her face growing pink in her frustration and embarrassment. However, she relaxed and knelt gently at Spike’s side. Jet made his way around and sat on the edge of the coffee table, so that they were both in his line of sight.

“Hey buddy,” he chuckled, cocking his head to catch Spike’s eye. “You had us worried for a while there; we almost lost you a few times.”

Spike stared at him through half-closed lids. Jet gazed back, watching his friend’s eye squint and unsquint as he tried to focus, his brow knitting slightly.

_He’s trying_ , Jet thought. _He’s trying so damn hard._

“How’re you feeling?” Faye asked, leaning forward. There was a dam’s worth of emotion behind the question, but she was doing her best to keep it in check. However, her best efforts quickly turned to ash as a wave of anxious words spilled out.

“Well I mean, you probably feel like shit, so maybe not the best question… No, actually, you definitely feel like shit, and you _should_ , after what you’ve been through, and after what _we’ve_ been through to get you here. Do you have _any_ idea what we’ve been through?” she asked suddenly, a flash of anger in her eyes. “We’ve been working, day and night, just to keep _your_ ungrateful heart pumping, you selfish, no-good, self-sacrificing sonuva---”

She froze, staring into his face. Jet looked back to Spike’s vacant face and saw something familiar.

There. The crinkles just at the corners of his eyes.

The rest of his face was still, probably numb from the sedatives they’d had to run through him off and on to keep him stable, but his working eye flashed for just a moment with clarity and humor.

A familiar smile Jet had missed so dearly shone in his friend’s tired eye.

His focus faded again, and the moment was gone. He blinked vaguely up at them, looking for all the world like a dozing toddler, struggling to stay awake for as long as he could.

Faye huffed and turned her back to lean once again against the couch, her face flushing red. “Well, whatever,” she grumbled, snatching up the remote and turning on the little screen situated on the coffee table. She began flicking quickly through the channels. “If you’re not going to say anything, then we might as well find something _worthwhile_ to watch other than your stupid face.”

Jet chuckled and joined her on the floor, taking a brief moment to glance back at Spike to make sure he wasn’t blocking his view. Spike met his eye with an unsteady blink, but there was a hint of recognition there. A silent acknowledgement. A long-awaited greeting.

Jet leaned back against the couch, breathing a heavy, satisfied sigh. He was content to sit here, on the floor of his ship, watching bland evening television with his two obnoxious friends. This moment was his peace.

He glanced nonchalantly at Faye and had to bite back a grin. She stared determinedly at the screen, but her gaze was unfocused as she curled down against the couch. A small movement and her expression softened, the tension bleeding slowly out of her shoulders. Just behind her, Spike’s hand rested on the edge of the couch, his long fingers weakly tangling themselves in bunches of her hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THAT LAST LINE, THO
> 
> BRUH
> 
> I AM IN TOO DEEP NOW
> 
> WILL THIS TURN INTO A SELF-INDULGENT SLOW BURN? WHO KNOWS
> 
> I'LL NEVER TELL
> 
> Thanks for reading; hope you're enjoying my sweet sweet boy's slow recovery!


	6. Slow Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few moments as Spike regains his strength.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is really more like two separate mini-scenes that didn't feel long enough to be their own chapters, so I decided to keep them together and post as is. Spike is a bastard man but he's getting better.

Spike continued to grow in awareness of his surroundings, but the world was a disconnected series of moments, blurring and bleeding into one another with no rhyme or reason.

He felt the times when they lifted him out of the pod, the sedatives fading slowly and the aching in his body returning tenfold. He could hear sometimes when Faye and Jet spoke to him, but their words were lost in a sea of static, or drifted away before he could fully process them.

They spoke to him a lot, now that they knew he was listening.

Faye’s words were scathing and critical, but he could hear no venom behind them. She tended to his wounds when he lay helpless on the couch, forced to listen as she talked and teased and insisted on being a general nuisance. Spike listened and watched when she berated him, her hands resting on his arm or in his hair. 

He was mesmerized by the feeling of her fingers twirling gently through his curls.

_Hm. Wonder why._

  
Spike tried to keep the thinking to a minimum; it was exhausting.

Jet talked to him a lot when he lay in the pod. He couldn’t see him, but he could hear his voice floating in through the open lid. Spike could imagine the older bounty hunter, leaning against the outside of the pod trimming his stupid little trees. His voice was a lot quieter than Faye’s, calmer but just as persistent in keeping him awake.

The only times Spike’s focus returned was at the mention of Faye’s name. The world got a little brighter. His eye focused a little clearer.

And then he shrugged his thoughts away, settling back into his own groggy haze.

  
  


…………………………………………….

  
  


Spike awoke one morning in the capsule, all blissfully silent save for the gentle hum of the machine around him. He felt stronger this morning, stronger than he had in… however long it had been that he’d been half-dead.

After an hour of waiting, his brow furrowed in determination.

He wanted to move.

More than that, he wanted food.

And a smoke.

And maybe a piss.

He wanted a lot of things that would require moving.

Spike remembered with a groan the last time he had tried to move on his own, but he was bored and hungry and tired of floating.

He wanted to move on his own again.

He concentrated on his left arm, since it was the one he could see. After a moment of thought, he shifted to his hand, his fingers. He gave them an experimental wiggle. 

They barely tapped the surface of the gel. Every digit felt like it was filled with lead. Spike marveled at how his fingers, apparently the heaviest parts of his body, managed to float at all.

He tried again.

His fingers responded slightly easier this time. Each still weighed a metric ton, but the simple movement was working a decade’s worth of stiffness from the joints. Excited by the progress, he pulled his hand as quickly as he could into a fist.

That was a mistake.

Lightning pain shot through his hand. His bicep tensed reflexively, sending the pain surging up his arm into his chest. He released his fist, but his muscles continued to scream in protest. He fought the wave of nausea burning his throat.

He couldn’t think.

Everything was on fire.

…………………………………………….

  
  


**“Premature movement detected. Patient’s heart rate erratic. Sedation advised. Confirm sedation?”**

The urgent message rang out on a loop through the Bebop. Faye silently thanked Jet for hooking up the capsule’s auditory functions to the ship’s speaker system as she sprinted into the hangar.

She staggered to a stop next to the pod and pried the lid open. Inside, Spike shook slightly, his eyes tightly shut and brow slick with sweat.

**“Sedation advised. Confirm sedation?”**

Faye’s finger hovered over the confirm button, but she hesitated when Spike’s eyes struggled open. With noticeable effort, he squinted up at her, chest heaving with short, labored breaths. Determination shone in his eye even as he trembled in obvious pain.

Kneeling, Faye tapped through the pod’s function options before finding what she was looking for.

**“Painkiller dosage increase confirmed. Sedation dosage decreased 90%. Patient stabilizing.”**

She stood and peered back into the pod. Spike’s eyes rolled back into his head, the tension easing from his face as his body relaxed. His breathing gradually slowed, before falling into a steady rhythm.

His eyes remained closed.

Faye glared down at him. 

“Lunkhead,” she muttered. “I lowered the sedative so you _wouldn’t_ fall asleep again.”

  
  


…………………………………………….

  
  


Jet rushed into the hangar. “What happened? Is he alright?”

Faye huffed. “Sleeping beauty here was just trying to move while the machine’s still in it’s ‘phase two’ or whatever,” she said, gesturing down into the pod.

Jet shuffled forward to stand beside her. “Doc said it was supposed to be a couple more days before he’d have the motor function to do anything.”

“Guess the idiot couldn’t wait.”  
  


“Figures,” Jet chuckled. “Bastard never was one for patience.”

Faye glared daggers at the floating bounty hunter. “Or critical thinking, for that matter.”

They leaned against the edge of the pod, gazing in thoughtful silence at their unconscious friend. His face was still, peaceful in the soft glow of the gel.

Suddenly, Faye gripped Jet’s arm, pointing wordlessly into the capsule. The fingers of Spike’s left hand were trembling. Slowly, they twitched, one by one bending until he had formed a loose, shaking fist. All except his middle finger.

Jet roared with laughter as Faye stomped away from the pod, shouting a fair few unkind words at one green-haired bounty hunter. Jet shook his head, turning with a smile to look back into Spike’s face. His left eye was cracked open, the corners of his mouth twitching weakly.

“You should be grateful you’re still stuck in that thing, or she would have kicked your ass on the spot,” Jet said, grinning widely. 

Spike’s neck tensed in what Jet could only assume was his current equivalent of a shrug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is Spike's inner monologue my own sarcastic comments in disguise?
> 
> I'll never tell.
> 
> (This chapter feels way shorter than the other ones; I'm not sure if it actually is but I hope you liked it regardless. I'm trying to regain my footing in this fic; chapter four was The Visual that got me writing it, but now that I'm past it I've gotta make some notes one scenes I want moving forward, so they might take a little bit to come together. 
> 
> ........ might just skip ahead to them making out and then that'll force me to write all the stuff in between, who knows. Thank you again for reading; hope you're having good AO3 travels!)


	7. Did you figure it out?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faye talks to Spike. He can't hear her, but she talks to him. She's got some things on her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited: 9/3 fixing timeline stuff
> 
> The writing beast abandoned me for a day, but she's back! Her name is Bobbo and she's an asshole who made me wait a whole day before figuring out what this next chapter needed to be. I hope you like some introspection on Faye's part; I hope to add more chapters like this in the coming future as people start acknowledging their feelings.
> 
> ... Very VERY slowly, but it's happening.
> 
> Slowly.
> 
> Veeery slowly.
> 
> Edit: I've been rereading chapters to try and get a feel for what I should write next, and I've realized that I probably should have switched chapters 6 and 7 in terms of Spike's lucidity, but tbh I like how this order is so imagine this is like, halfway in the middle of chapter 6 or something. Hope you'll forgive me!

“Three weeks is a long time to wait.”

Faye peeled back the patch covering Spike’s side, exhaling a satisfied sigh at the scar finally beginning to form. She ran a light finger along the near-fatal wound.

His intentions were clear. There was no way he’d have known Faye would follow. There was _no way_ he’d have known she’d find him in time.

_Did you figure it out?_ she thought, bringing her eyes cautiously up to his face.

Spike's face was turned towards her, but his working eye was unfocused, uncomprehending. The doc had explained the process of regaining consciousness from his severe injuries would take time, and even more so awareness and response. He was awake, sure, but it was doubtful he heard them, much less see them.

Slowly, Faye brought a finger in front of his eyes, moving it from side to side. He continued to stare groggily past it, past her hand, past her face. His breath fogged the interior of his oxygen mask.

Faye shook her head, tapping the space between his eyes irritably. She hoped that the poke would elicit a response, but of course none came. He merely gazed past her, limp and frail and... alive.

_Did you figure it out?_

She ran her hand absently through his hair. This motion had become almost instinctual to Faye, like breathing or walking or blinking. It was a habit, a tangible reminder of his condition, of his existence. It had become a comfort, a calming rhythm she fell into whenever her fear rose beyond her control. His hair was soft and familiar, wild and untameable. She liked that about his hair.

Faye drew lazy figure eights over the scar on his scalp, the hair surrounding it short and bristly and strange to the touch. She’d grown fond of this change to his look, though she doubted he would keep it long once he was fully conscious. 

“When you’re more awake, we’ll have to start slow on building up your strength again. You’ve been lazing about a _long_ time.”

Spike’s gaze remained unsteady and unchanged.

“Though what do you care,” she breathed. “You can’t hear me, anyway.”

Faye pressed the hair delicately from his forehead. “Where are you, cowboy?” she murmured, watching his eyes intently.

He stared dully onward. Her hand pushed gently through his hair, the motion soothing her impatience for the moment. She wanted the Bebop to return to what it was before, a chaotic ship of insanity and reckless abandon, with bickering and smoke breaks and warm cups of coffee.

A home.

Faye’s mind wandered to Ed as she knelt by Spike’s side. She wondered at the state of the child, whether she and Ein had found a home with Ed’s father.

A wave of heartache surged through Faye’s heart. She furrowed her brow, blinking back tears she didn’t want. _Ed can do whatever she wants,_ she thought stubbornly, trying in vain to push the child's crooked grin from her mind. _She never needed us, and she certainly don’t need us now. We were only a moment in her life._

Faye refocused on Spike’s face. The bounty hunter’s eyelids fluttered, this short stretch of consciousness gradually coming to an end.

_He needs us now._

_… But does he want us?_

“Did you figure it out?”

Her whispered question stumbled out before she could stop it, her words sounding hollow and far away to her own ears. She prayed silently that he’d stay unresponsive, this once.

The question was a loaded gun, the barrel pressed against her heart.

His eyes settled and closed in sleep.

Faye sighed, resting her forehead wearily against his arm. She took a steadying breath.

“Jet and I care about you,” she murmured. “You cared about us, too. I know it. You men insisting you have you have no friends and no connections, but… it’s all a lie. It’s all a fucking lie because you _do_ care.”

She rose on her knees, bringing her face close to his ear. She didn’t care anymore whether or not he was listening. She had words she needed to say.

“It’s not okay that you hide it, either of you. It’s not fair. Jet cared about you. _I_ cared about you, and you threw us away for… what, a mission? A vendetta? Vengeance?”

She choked on her words, frustration building at her own inability to speak. She hated losing her voice. She hated this man, this ship, space itself.

She hated how whole she felt in this place.

The hate wasn’t real, but she was angry. She was angry and afraid of something she couldn’t explain.

Spike slept on as she gripped his arm with shaking fingers.

“Did you know that Jet favors oolong?” she asked, voice catching as she fought against her own tears. “He… he acts all tough, but his trees and his tea and how he followed when I chased you… You’re his brother, Spike, _our_ friend, and you just _left_ him. You left _us_. ”

Tears began to spill unchecked down her cheeks. She hated crying. It was weak, and pointless, and made it hard to speak. She always had a pounding headache after crying. She fought to catch her breath, frustration and irritation and grief heavy in her chest.

“I… I stole one of your shirts for a bounty once,” she continued, taking his hand. She laced her fingers through his, trying to steady herself against his skin. “You didn’t even notice. You motherfucker, did you notice and just not say anything? Why wouldn’t you? You never liked having more than just you and Jet, and even that… You said you never liked Ed, or Ein, or m… me.”

Her grip tightened. “You were lying. You’ve _always_ been lying. Even if you won’t say it, it _has_ to be true. You’ve protected us. You saved me at the chapel… You _did_ care, you sick son of a bitch.”

The tension in her shoulders fell away as she spoke, but the pain in her heart only grew. She bit her lip, angrily fighting more tears.

_Why am I so angry?_

“Why do I bother, you’re not even listening,” she spat, standing roughly and turning to go.

But she couldn’t leave. She didn’t want to, really. He made her so _angry_ , made her heart ache and her breath catch. But he was alive and recovering, and that fact alone made her feel like _she_ could recover. Recover… and live.

Live beyond a lost life or a faraway staircase.

“Did you figure it out?” she mumbled, sitting heavily on the edge of the coffee table. “Did you figure out if you were… alive?”

The bounty hunter’s chest rose and fell steadily, oblivious to the question that carried so much weight.

Faye sighed, burying her face in her hands. She sat in silence for some time, letting the sounds of the ship and his gentle breathing wash over her. Finally, she looked up and fixed him with a resolute stare.

“Live, damn it,” she hissed. “If not for yourself, for your friends. You know what those are, right, you piece of shit? Jet, _he’s_ your friend. Somewhere, Ed and Ein; _they’re_ still your friends. Me, _I’m_ your… friend.”

The word tasted oddly sour, leaving her mouth. She frowned. It was the truth; why did it feel so… lesser? So other? 

They were… friends. They’d spent time as enemies, as begrudging acquaintances, as partners with unwavering trust. As friends.

Why did _friend_ now feel so… Incomplete?

“Live _now_ , Spike,” she whispered, pushing her strange thoughts aside and fingers again through his curls. “Live for us, your… friends. If you can… forgive us, too. _Please_ forgive us. I don’t care anymore if you went there to die. You can’t leave us behind so easily.”

_… Don’t leave us behind._

_Please._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it possible to be gleeful AND pissed at my own writing? Yes, the answer yes I'm mad at myself AND so happy with how this chapter turned out. It took me a day of staring at a blank page to figure out where I wanted to go, but when I realized I needed more contemplation to really plant the necessary seeds, the opening sparked in my brain and a fire caught as I was writing so *jazz hands* here's an update!
> 
> I feed off comments and kudos; if there's something you're curious about seeing in the future or a scene you would find interesting, let me know?


	8. It's All Just a Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spike begins to remember.
> 
> Memories fade into dreams. Dreams fade into nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter has significant mentions of blood, as well as vomit, nightmares, hyperventilating/ panic attack, existentialism (I don't mean this as a joke, I just couldn't think of a better word) and graphic death visuals. Please use caution while reading this chapter. Graphic depictions like the one in this chapter don't really bother me, but it gets a lot darker than any of the other previous chapters, so be cautious and aware of your own limitations. If anyone would like the basic gist of what I'm trying to get across in this chapter, message me and I can add a summary in the end notes.
> 
> TLDR; this is a really heavy chapter. It's not gonna be fun.

Regaining his lucidity was not a relief. It merely brought back memories. Memories he could not fully comprehend, or contain.

Memories Spike didn’t have the strength to suppress.

The memories faded into dreams.

The dreams faded into nightmares.

  
  


\----

_Gunshots rang out in the twilight. The rain, it made it so hard to see._

_He’d dealt with the shooter on the ground; anyone who got in their way was dead._

_He didn’t think behind them._

_  
__He didn’t see the lone shooter as she staggered to her feet._

_He didn’t see until it was too late._

_One shot._

_It only took one shot to take everything from him._

_His… everything._

_His past._

_His future._

_This moment, slipping away._

_Her heartbeat, fading as he held her._

_Fading with his thoughts, leaving him numb and gray._

_He didn’t feel the rain._

_He didn’t feel anything._

\----

_A sword to his chest, his past glaring murder into his face._

_He’d run before. He couldn’t run now._

_He’d wanted to be free, with her._

_Only with her._

_But she never came._

_A sword piercing his shoulder. Piercing his heart._

_His own gun firing into his past._

_His own gun, turning to face him._

_His past, spitting in his face as he held her in his arms._

_She never came._

_Glass shattering._

_He was falling._

  
  


\----

  
  


_One shot in the dark._

_Rain in his eyes._

_Someone screamed._

_Was it him?_

_He heard his own voice as he lost her._

_Again._

_Rain streaming down his face._

_Why hadn’t she come?_

_He knew._

_It was just a dream._

  
  


_\----_

  
  


_Shredded paper and cigarette butts._

_The woman he loved._

_The woman who’d made him feel alive, bleeding out in his arms._

_“It’s all just a dream.”_

_A single rose, the only color in a sea of gray._

_Blood and rain, pouring down his face._

_Pouring down her face._

_His past, beating him to a bloody pulp._

_A sword, piercing through his chest, straight through into the woman he loved._

_A bullet, piercing through the back of the woman who’d made him feel alive._

  
  


_\----_

  
  


_The past and the present bled together. They danced and shifted, almost electric with their twists and turns and flashing colors._

_It reminded him of Ed’s computer._

_He saw her farewell, painted on the deck of the Bebop._

_A spray painted smile and a simple ‘bye-bye’, bright red in the fading sun._

_The red smile began to grow, shifting and mutating before his eyes. It rippled like water._

_Like blood._

_Ed’s final words to them faded as the deck of the Bebop began to sink in a sea of scarlet._

_He saw Ein’s body, floating in the liquid, Ed’s hair just sinking under the surface._

  
  


\----

  
  


_The past and present bled together; his eyes crossed just trying to keep track._

_It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t fun. It wasn’t safe._

_He stood with Vicious in a dark alley, a smile on his face with the one man he trusted at his back._

_He sat with Jet in some dingy bar, a smile on his face with the one man he trusted at his side._

_They stood together, side by side, Vicious and Jet._

_They held swords in their hands, pressed against the other’s throat._

_He lay in Julia’s bed, sore and bleeding and alive under her gaze._

_She held a gun to his head and fired._

  
  


_\----_

  
  


_“Where are you going?”_

_He didn’t face her. He didn’t have to. She wasn’t his responsibility._

_His life._

_She had her life. She understood her past, and chose a world past it._

_He had mismatched eyes._

_“What’re you going to do? Just throw your life away like it was nothing?”_

_“I’m not going there to die.”_

_A gunshot._

_He turned to face her._

_A lone gunman, down the hall. He hadn’t seen him._

_Again._

_Blood trickled down Faye’s forehead._

_He tried to catch her, to hold her. He was running on air._

_She collapsed to the floor, motionless._

_He tried to hold her; his hands passed straight through her. Vicious’s laughter echoed through the hallway._

_\----_

  
  


_It was raining. He stood in a graveyard, cold and wet and colorless._

_It was dark, but the shadowy figures whose eyes followed him were darker. Black as ink in the twilight, their gazes burning into his back._

_There were four headstones. He knelt before them. There were no words, only childish paintings. A gruff man with one arm. A wide, crooked grin. A stupid, stupid dog._

_A woman with purple hair._

_Approaching footsteps made him turn. Faye stood over him, her eyes milky white and glowing. She was pale and bitter as death. Her stare was piercing._

_Resentful._

_Disgusted._

_“I’m not going there to die.”_

_Spike’s own voice issued from Faye’s gray lips. The con artist’s expression turned colder, disdainful._

_“You’re pathetic. You were never alive, Spike. Not with the syndicate, not on the Bebop._

_Not with Julia.”_

_The rain turned to acid on Spike’s skin, burning and melting through flesh, almost like it was personal._

_Faye wrapped a freezing hand around his throat._

_“Did you figure it out?”_

_Jet’s specter hovered to the side, a sneer mutilating his features._

_“Pathetic.”_

_Blood poured from a blackened sky._

_“Did you figure out if you were_ **_alive_ ** _?”_

_“You were never alive.”_

_“Spike-person, Spike-person, are you_ **_listening_ ** _?”_

_A strangled bark rang out in the darkness. The blood was pooling, rising up his legs, pushing against his chest. He couldn’t breath._

_“You’re nothing.”_

_“Why do you have to go?_ **_Where are you going_ ** _?”_

_"Spike."_

_Vicious stood before him, a gun pointed at his right eye._

_“It’s all just a dream.”_

_Powerful arms gripped his shoulders. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breath._

_A single gunshot. His eye exploded._

  
  


_\----_

  
  


Spike was screaming. His own voice was deafening, reverberating around the inside of the pod. 

“Spike!”

He fought, his body instinctively shrinking away from the arms that gripped his shoulders. He lashed out, but a metal hand gripped him easily by the wrist. He was too weak.

_I’m in the gel. They’re going to drown me._

_I’m going to die._

_Again._

**_Again._ **

**_A G A I N._ **

**_WAS I EVER ALIVE---_ **

“Spike, wake up! It’s me!”

_Why did they die?_

Ein. 

Ed. 

Jet. 

Faye.

_Who am_ **_I_ ** _to live if they’re dead?_

_Where are they?_

_I left---_

**_Why?_ **

_She’s gone---_

**_W H O A M I - - - -_ **

“SPIKE!”

He felt himself being lifted into a sitting position. He tore at the hands holding him, but his fingers crumpled against his captor’s firm grip. He wanted to fight but he was too weak...

  
  


**_W H Y A M I A L I V E - - - -_ **

  
  


Steady arms pulled him into a hug.

“Spike, you’re okay. It was a dream. You’re okay.”

Spike’s eyes shot open; his face was buried in Jet’s shoulder. 

He couldn’t stop his own body shaking. He couldn’t stop the excruciating sobs forcing their way up his throat. He couldn’t stop the pain.

His eyes clamped shut.

He couldn’t stop it.

“You’re okay.”

His heart was beating too fast. He couldn’t breathe.

“Slow down, buddy, slow down. Breathe.”

He couldn’t. His chest hurt. Everything hurt...

“Shit, Jet, what’s go---”

“Faye, I’m gonna lean him against the pod. We’ve gotta calm him down.”

He was being lifted. His lungs burned. He couldn’t stop _shaking_.

Soft hands cupped either side of his face. A forehead pressed against his.

“Spike, I need you to breathe with me. Listen to my voice and breathe, okay? In, and out. Slower, just like that. In… And out… Good, you’re okay...”

Spike shuddered, fixing the entirety of his focus onto Faye’s voice, onto matching her breathing. Every gasp snagged in his throat, battling against terror-driven tears and nausea. He registered distantly a feeling of humiliation, disgusted at his own weakness and emotional breakdown.

_Why am I still crying?_

“Breathe, Spike. Breathe…”

He’d never cried before. Maybe, when he was young, but he was a grown-ass adult now. He’d killed people. He’d _been_ killed. He didn’t cry like a kid.

He _hated_ kids. They cried _all_ the time.

_Ed’s red hair sinking slowly under scarlet waves…_

_Jet, a katana in his back..._

_Faye, a bullet between her eyes..._

**_What the fuck is wrong with me?_ **

“Jet, what happened?”

“Nightmares, as far as I can figure.”

A metal hand held his shoulder steady. His breathing was slowing. The nausea was building.

“Spike, buddy, you’re okay. It was just a dream. You’re alive.”

“... _Are… you…?”_

His voice was hoarse, halting and unsteady from disuse and lack of air. He raised fluttering eyes, desperate to find their faces.

He found them, those familiar faces. They were filled with concern and bewilderment at his question. His eyes stung; his throat and lungs burned.

“ _Are… you… alive…?”_

“... We’re alive, Spike,” Jet confirmed, his grip growing tighter.

Faye was searching his eyes. He wanted to look, but he couldn’t meet her. He couldn’t see the life fade from them again.

He couldn’t.

“Spike, we’re alive. And so are you.”

Spike retched, bile coating the roof of his mouth and splattering onto his chest. Faye and Jet both swore in surprise, moving quickly to clean him up, but he was already fading.

He didn’t want to sleep again.

But he couldn’t stop it…

_He was fading..._

_It was all just a dream._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was re-watching some scenes to build this chapter and I realized I hadn't spent much time thinking about how Spike would begin to process Julia's death and how his comatose state might be affecting that. I think he processed it Enough at the time, that he could have his final conversations with Faye and Jet and his showdown with Vicious. But like... losing your entire identity seems like a lot to just... Drop in a day. Now that his brain has had more than enough time to think about this, I think there's a certain amount of repressing that he's been doing that's finally bringing itself to the surface, and I wanted to explore that, along with a couple other things.
> 
> Even though I wrote it, I'm not totally sure if I wrote in-character the whole time. This feels right for this story, but I'm hesitant to say I'm convinced that Spike would cry in the way we usually think about it. It would be more delirious than from grief or pain, if that makes sense. Regardless, it still felt right, and I'm glad I included it.
> 
> This got a lot heavier than my initial plan but hey, they're nightmares, whatcha gonna do?
> 
> It's also got a hefty amount of metaphors that I'm really proud of, plan on addressing in the future, and I sure as hell hope came across the way I meant them to. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed reading! As much as you could, of course; fun is a strong word when it comes to my poor gentleman having nightmares. Still, hope you liked, and as always, thanks for reading!


	9. Supply Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Spike's nightmare, Jet leaves the ship to pick up supplies.
> 
> He finds something familiar along the way...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Working title: Welcome Back, Space Cowgirl

They had to half carry, half drag Spike to the shower to clean him off. He trembled in his sleep, mumbling incoherently and flinching under the steady stream of water. Faye’s expression was set as they worked. Jet couldn’t understand how she was taking this so calmly; his own nerves were completely shot.

The scream hadn’t sounded afraid, or sad, or even painful. It was just… raw. Emotion and life and existence all crammed into a series of agonized shrieks. Jet had never heard anything so blood curdling in his entire life.

The medical capsule was dark when they returned. Faye poked and searched the pod, only finding a tiny readout with a red flashing ‘malfunction’ alert to indicate what was wrong. Jet propped Spike up against the outside again, for fear he might vomit again and choke. He pulled out his communicator and dialed the doctor.

And he worried.

  
  


…………………………………………….

  
  
  


An hour later, Jet peered absently around the Earth marketplace, taking in the sights, sounds, and smells as he walked. The doctor had run him through a series of tests before being able to determine what parts needed to be replaced on the pod. Jet had known that this had been a possibility all along; nevertheless, the timing of the malfunction grated him to no end.

He'd left Faye to tend to Spike in the living room. Spike had remained unconscious, but he twitched and grunted in his sleep, restless and plagued by whatever nightmares rose to mind. Faye had offered to make the supply run herself, but Jet insisted.

If Jet was being honest with himself… it was torture to watch his friend and know he couldn’t do anything to help him. They’d only worked together for three years, but it had been a _good_ three years. When Faye joined, their normal morphed into something strange, but that eventually settled. Even the kid and the dog brought something fun and weird to the ship, a liveliness. It was all good.

Through all the changes, they were still partners. Jet saw him like the brother he never had. He trusted Spike with his life.

And he couldn’t do anything to help the poor bastard.

So here he stood, in some Earth market, trying to find replacement parts for a machine he didn’t understand, to distract himself from the friend he couldn’t help.

Jet sighed, rubbing the back of his neck wearily. His mind wandered to Ed and Ein as he moved from vendor to vendor, carefully examining components and haggling prices.

_Hope the little shit’s doing okay,_ he thought with a smile.

They’d received no contact from the young tech genius ever since she’d left. Jet doubted they ever would, considering Ed’s carefree, often absentminded mentality. 

What he wouldn’t give to go back. Back to a simpler time, when all they had to do was hunt bounties and scavenge for food and have their moments of peace and solitude.

Before lost memories and abrupt departures.

Before near-fatalities.

Before nightmares---

Jet stumbled and bumped into a group of children, knocking one of them to the ground. The group scattered, abandoning their fellow to the tall, flustered bounty hunter.

“Aw, shit, kid, sorry about that,” he began, reaching out his hand to help the child up.

He froze when he met her eyes.

“JEEEEEEEET!!!”

Ed squealed with glee, throwing her arms around his neck. Jet staggered upright in surprise; Ed held tight, wrapping her legs around his torso and giving him the biggest bear hug her thin form could manage.

“Ed?!”

“Ein, Ein! Ed found the Jet-person!”

Jet glanced down at his feet, a bemused smile tugging at his lips as he watched Ein, in all his corgi glory, circling him and barking excitedly. Before he could begin to badger the child with questions, however, an angry voice called out behind him.

“There, that’s the kid!”

Jet turned with a sigh, Ed still clinging tightly to his neck. He came face to face with an officer and an irate shopkeeper. 

“That little fucker lifted one of my latest computer processors two days ago,” the shopkeeper snarled, wagging a furious finger in Ed’s direction.

“Are you the child’s father?” the officer asked. They already sounded bored with the whole exchange.

Before Jet could respond, Ed giggled and poked his cheek.

“Child’s father, yes-yes-yes! Papa-Jet, Papa-Jet! He is my father-person, yes!”

Jet glared at her from the corner of his eye and sighed. “Look, I don’t want any trouble,” he said, raising his hands defensively. “Let me pay you for the piece and call it even. I’ll, er, make sure to punish her when we get home.”

The officer turned to the shopkeeper with a shrug. “Seems reasonable to me. How much was the piece?”

The shopkeeper continued to glare daggers. “One million woolong.”

Jet tensed. Ed giggled again. Ein growled from his place at Jet’s feet.

The bounty hunter sighed again. “Very well, let me just---”

In one swift motion, he scooped up the dog, wrapped his other arm tightly around Ed, and bolted down the nearest alleyway. Shots began to fire behind him, but he dodged deftly around corners, leaping over lounging beggars and sprinting for his life. Ed shrieked in his ear, her laughter echoing off the close alley walls. Just as he was about to rush down another side street, Ed suddenly tugged on his beard.

“Jet-person, that one, hurry-hurry!” she cried, pointing urgently.

Jet peered into the narrow alley; it was so dark and declined so rapidly Jet would have missed it entirely under normal circumstances. He scrambled into the alley, holding the dog and child tightly to his chest as he fumbled in the dark. Something snagged his boot and he slid, falling roughly on his back. He glanced hurriedly back towards the entrance of the alleyway; they were just out of sight of the street.

Jet clamped his hands tightly over Ed’s mouth and Ein’s snout, waiting. He listened to the shouts of the officer and shopkeeper growing closer. 

They passed right in front of the entrance to the alleyway.

And then they moved on, fading slowly into the distance. 

Jet groaned, resting his head back wearily on the cobblestone. Ed and Ein wriggled in his grasp. He released them, but remained parallel to the ground, taking the moment to catch his breath. Ed rolled off him, cackling. Ein licked his face, still firmly planted on his chest. After a moment, Jet scratched the corgi’s ears fondly.

“Hope that processor was worth it,” he moaned finally, adjusting Ein so he could sit up properly.

“Worth it, worth it!” Ed agreed with a grin, rocking playfully from side to side. 

Jet studied her thoughtfully. “How’ve you been, you little rascal? What’s your dad up to? Still chasing meteors?”

Ed paused her rocking and frowned. She met Jet’s eye with an unwavering stare.

“Father-person is no more,” she said simply. “Father-person chased the meteor, but meteor chased him back. Whack! Whack! Bam and boom, his car went boom. No more papa for Edward.”

She smiled and resumed her rocking. Jet stared at her in stunned silence. In his lap, Ein whimpered faintly.

“Well, shit, kid… I’m… Fuck, I’m so sorry. You've... you've been alone all this time?”

Ed cocked her head to the side. “Edward is not alone. Edward has Ein.”

She leaned forward curiously. “Jet-person is alone.”

Jet stared into her bright, intelligent eyes. He reached out a hand and gently ruffled her hair. “Nah kid,” he chuckled. “Faye and Spike are back on the ship. I just came into town to grab some shit.”

Ed’s eyes widened with delight. “Faye-Faye and Spike-person, back on the Bebop??”

“Ha ha, yeah, kid.”

“But Faye-Faye left, and Spi-Spi was dead!”

Jet blinked. “Uh… where… how did you---”

“Edward watched the news. All the news, showing how the big bad Red Dragon went boom! Cameras here, cameras there, showing Spike-person shot and sliced, dead-dead, indeed, indeed.”

She mimed the fight, firing a finger gun playfully at Jet’s arm and slashing with an invisible sword over his gut. Jet let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“Yeah, uh… he was really fucked up--- I mean, uh… hurt. He was hurt, but we… Faye came back, and we got him in time. He’s alive, on the Bebop. They’re both back there right now.”

Ed grinned widely. “Edward is glad Spike isn't dead. Edward was sad when he died.”

She lowered her eyes, her grin fading slightly. “Edward was sad when the father-person died. Spike-person died, father-person died. But Edward lives.”

Jet pulled the child to his chest, hugging her tightly. She didn’t hug him back, merely hummed into his shoulder. Ein nuzzled his hand gently.

Slowly, he regained his composure and held Ed at arm’s length. He studied her cheerful face, her goggles perched precariously in her mess of red hair.

“There’ll always be space for you on the Bebop, kid. You and Ein both, if you want it. _A home_.”

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t a request.

It was merely an offer.

She squeezed his cheeks with a laugh. “Ein missed the Bebop anyway. Captain Ed and Ein want to return to the Bebop!” she giggled, waggling her brows.

Ein yipped enthusiastically. Jet rolled his eyes. “Well then, _captain_ , I never found what I was looking for, so maybe you can help me. And, er, it’d be best if we didn’t run into that cop or shopkeep again.”

  
  


…………………………………………….

  
  


Through some miracle, they managed to avoid any further commotion, gathering the necessary supplies and what little food they could afford. After a moment’s hesitation, Jet bought the kid a candy bar with the last of their woolong. He knew they had to find another bounty soon, anyway, and with Ed and Ein back in the party, he figured he and Faye would both be able to both work jobs without having to worry too much about Spike.

The sudden thought of Ed watching over Spike alone made Jet pause. He loved the kid, but… some rules and precautions might have to be established before he _trusted_ her that much.

Ed disappeared briefly without him realizing it. Jet wondered with a sad frown if this was another game or if she were gone again when she popped out of another alley, her computer perched comfortably on her head and a bag slung over her shoulder. She plucked several supply bags from Jet’s hands.

“Captain Edward is helping,” she said, beaming up at him.

Jet rolled his eyes with a smile but made no comment. Ein wove through his legs, panting lightly with delight. 

The three adventurers struggled through cramped Earth streets before finally reaching the open waterside paths leading to the docks. Ed sang and pranced around near the water’s edge, always keeping within sight of the bounty hunter. Jet chuckled to himself at her antics. 

_The ship has been so quiet without them_ , he thought.

_God, I missed them._

Ed stopped suddenly, staring out over the water. Jet stopped, peering curiously over her head.

“What’s up, kid?”

She dropped her share of supplies and whooped, sprinting away down the docks. Ein barked after her but stayed by Jet’s side, moving to guard the discarded bags. With a grunt, the bounty hunter gathered up the supplies and followed, making no move to chase her.

He’d seen it, too.

The pinwheel whirling in the wind, firmly fixed by memories and an obscene amount of duct tape to the deck of the Bebop.

They were home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ED AND EIN ARE BACK, BABEEE!!!! YES!!!!
> 
> This whole fic is going to be Way longer than I ever imagined it, lads, but I am so happy and so Invested with bringing this gang back together, I couldn't resist. If I'm being honest, when I started I never originally planned to bring the kids back but they just bring so much life to the ship, and the dynamics of Dad!Jet and his band of miscreant children is just too good :D
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this much more wholesome chapter after the #bummer that was Spike's nightmare. They can all start to heal now. Together.
> 
> Thanks for reading, hit me up with a kudos or comment if you liked it, and let me know what you think!
> 
> Edit: rewatching episodes is leading me to want to rewrite some of Ed's dialogue bc I don't think I've been doing her voice justice. might take me a bit but I want this fic to feel like the best it can be over time, so if that takes going back and rewriting then damn it that's what i'mma do. also damn I'm working on like chap 22 or 23 rn and I really did fuckin' rush ed and ein returning so I'mma try my best to flesh that out and give her some proper characterization and development. Spike and Faye are my focus but damn it the kiddo deserves some good screen time too
> 
> Double edit: I rushed this so much lol. I know. I'm calling myself on it. Forgive me. What can I say, I missed them :P. I'll make it right as I go.


	10. Will This Make You Happy?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faye decides to live again.
> 
> Spike suffers another nightmare.
> 
> And the Bebop shares a long-awaited reunion.

Faye was not calm. Faye was anything _but_ calm.

As she watched Jet depart the Bebop to gather supplies, she tried desperately to calm herself with the breathing technique she’d used with Spike earlier. Seven seconds in… eleven seconds out… Seven seconds in… eleven seconds out… 

_Focus on the seconds… Focus on slowing, lengthening time..._

She’d picked the trick up sometime after waking up from cryosleep; when she started to panic, or when she woke up in a cold sweat to a tear-stained pillowcase, she focused on breathing.

Instinct became an anchor to reality.

Spike shuddered in his sleep, his brow furrowing fitfully. She watched him, the sight of his trembling body breaking her heart. Something glistened slightly at the corner of his left eye.

_What are we doing?_ She thought, brushing away the feverish tear. _What kind of life is this?_

_His life._

**_Our_ ** _lives._

_The three of us, drifting through space, fighting and teasing and wandering the stars._

_Together, damn it._

_It felt true. It felt_ **_right_ ** _._

_If only he would wake up and begin to live again._

Faye’s thoughts drifted as it often did to their last conversation in the hall of the Bebop. The day he’d left.

The day he’d died.

The day she’d nearly lost him.

_What ifs_ and _if onlys_ drifted haphazardly through her mind. 

_What if I’d stopped him?_

_What if he’d chosen to stay?_

_If only he’d waited a little longer._

_If only he hadn’t gotten hurt._

_If only he’d_ **_stayed_ ** _._

_But no… he had to go._

_It was something he’d had to do._

_So now that it was over with Vicious, and with Julia… now what?_

She missed him. More than her past, more than a lovestruck moment with a man who betrayed her.

She missed his lazy stare, his biting remarks and playful smirks. She missed arguing. She missed standing side by side on the deck of the Bebop, sharing a cigarette and a moment of bliss and silence.

This stupid, arrogant man, with his gangly limbs and devil-may-care air.

_Is he ever coming back?_

She’d been fighting that thought for weeks. Now, alone with him, watching his eyelids flutter in phantom pain, it finally surfaced and surged to the forefront of her mind. The thought burned her eyes and stabbed her heart.

_He may be alive, but he’ll never be the same._

_Spike may never really return._

_… Well. So what then?_

Faye blinked back angry tears. She was angry at herself, angry at the bounty hunter she’d come to care for.

_Even if he comes back different, he’d still be here, and that was something._

She clung desperately to that something, that glimmer of hope in a dark sea of unknowns. If she had to learn him all over again, fight with him and scorn him, she’d do it.

She’d relearn herself, too. She’d find joy and pain and a life again.

Not because of this ship. Not because of this man.

No, she’d find herself and live beyond it all because she wanted to live again.

But she’d spend it here, on this dingy-ass ship, with these crusty-ass bounty hunters, because they were her family, and this was her home. And if he let her, she’d help him find himself again, too.

Faye was pulled unceremoniously from her thoughtful stupor by her own tiny bladder. She groaned, releasing a heavy sigh. _Emotions are exhausting,_ she thought with a frown.

Nevertheless, her heart felt a little lighter.

She breathed a little easier.

“I’ll be right back,” she whispered softly, kissing Spike’s forehead gently as she stood.

She was halfway up the stairs before she realized what she’d done. Her breath caught, the feeling of his skin still warm against her lips. With a slight shake of her head, she turned away and stormed off to the restroom, vainly hoping to leave the thoughts of his face behind.

  
  


…………………………………………….

  
  


_He was in the graveyard again._

_Everything gray. Everything intangible. Everything shrouded in an unforgiving mist._

_A single red rose, full of promise, full of passion and life._

_A single rose fading to gray, dripping in blood._

_“Julia is dead.”_

_The bridge of the Bebop flashed in his mind, a nearly-forgotten memory of a long lost conversation crowding his mind’s eye._

_“You just couldn’t let it go.”_

_Jet stared down at him, black, hollow sockets where his eyes should be._

_“So where does that leave you? Here?” The older bounty hunter scoffed, gesturing to the ship around them. “I think I’ve taken you in one too many times, don’t you think?”_

_Spike tried to stand, to confront him, but his wrist was handcuffed to the railing. He struggled fruitlessly as Jet pulled his gun and aimed it casually at his forehead._

**_“You just couldn’t let it go.”_ **

_\----_

_Ed and Ein sprawled innocently on the floor of the living room, Spike lazing on the couch. He watched, wishing vacantly their snoring would quiet for once so he could sleep in peace._

_The whole world fell abruptly silent._

_No more hum of the Bebop._

_No more snores._

_No more heartbeats._

_He glanced down at his feet. Ed and Ein lay on either side, handcuffed to his ankles. Their blood was seeping through the soles of his shoes._

_He tried to reach them, to wake them._ **_He tried._ **

_They dissolved into the floor, Ed’s laughter echoing like a broken record through the Bebop’s empty halls._

_\----_

_She held a gun to his head. Her eyes were white. The bullet hole in her forehead gleamed with blood._

_“Where are_ **_you_ ** _going?_ **_Why_ ** _are you going?”_

_Faye lowered the pistol, red slowly creeping into her eyes._

_“You told me once to forget the past, ‘cuz it doesn’t matter. But_ **_you’re_ ** _the one still tied to the past, Spike.”_

_He was handcuffed to the woman he once loved._

_A shot rang out. The lone gunner._

_The cuffs around his wrist tightened, digging painfully into his flesh. Julia’s limp body dragged him to his knees. Faye pressed the gun firmly to his right eye. Her stare was so cold, full of an expression he hated to his core._

_Pity._

_Her face split, one half morphing and writhing until it was someone else entirely._

_Faye and Julia’s voices roared in his ears._

**_“WhY dO yOu HaVe To Go, sPiKe? WhAt ArE yOu rUnNiNg FrOm?”_ **

_She fired._

\----

_He collapsed to the deck of the Bebop, stormy winds ripping at his clothes. They stood in a line, all these people he’d known, he’d lived with, he’d spent his energy to protect at times._

_Vicious._

_Julia._

_Jet._

_The kid._

_The fucking dog, even._

_And Faye._

_They towered over him, eyes burning and bodies in various states of decay._

_Spike tried to stand, but he stumbled; his hands were tied behind his back._

_He could feel his own heartbeat reverberating through the deck of the ship. His friends, his enemy, the woman he had loved began to circle him, whispering secrets and terrors in the darkness._

_“Spike-person?”_

_Spike raised his eyes. Ed grinned down at him, a gun clasped in her small hand._

_“Leave me alone,” Spike choked, attempting to scramble away._

_But he couldn’t move._

_They were in space._

_It was getting hard to breathe._

_Ed giggled. “Will this make you happy, Spike?” she asked, pulling the gun slowly to the side of her head._

_Faye knelt beside the child, her own pistol in the same position. “Will this make you happy, Spike?” she echoed._

**_“You’re the one still tied to the past, Spike.”_ **

**_“Spike-person?”_ **

**_“Were you ever alive?”_ **

**_“WeRe wE EvEr aLiVe?”_ **

_They fired._

…………………………………………….

  
  


Spike gasped, bolting upright as his eyes shot open. His entire body shook uncontrollably. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think.

He tried to blink but their bloodied faces stared back at him behind his eyelids.

Something brushed his shoulder; he recoiled from the touch, raising a feeble hand defensively.

“Leave me alone," Spike murmured, his voice gravelly and faltering. 

Heart racing, he stared into the side of the couch, too afraid to close his eyes and see their faces again.

_I just want to wake up._

Tiny fingers laced through his.

“Spike-person, Spike-person, close to dead-ward. Wake up, wake up, it’s the return of Edward!”

Spike turned in surprise, momentarily dumbfounded by the sight of the crooked grin, the disheveled mop of hair. 

Wide, brown eyes, full of joy, full of mischief.

Full of _life_.

_Is this a dream?_

_Is this real?_

Ed smiled wider, cocking her head playfully to the side. She gave his hand a quick squeeze.

“Spike, you don’t look so good. Not so good, not so good at all!”

He still couldn’t breathe. His heart caught in his throat as he sat frozen, fighting for air.

“What in the--- Ed! What the _hell_??”

He couldn’t breathe. Ed’s face was growing fuzzy. His heart raced faster. He couldn’t breathe.

_Please let this be real._

He couldn’t breathe, but she was _alive._

Someone clasped his shoulders from behind and lowered him gently back to the couch. A hand brushed his cheek. “Hold on a sec, Ed. Spike? Let’s do this again, okay? You can do it, Spike. Just breathe with me. Listen to my voice. In… and out… In… and out…”

“Spike-person?”

Their voices were fading, his senses numbing. He focused on Faye’s breathing close to his ear. 

In… and out…

In… and out…

Eternity stretched as Spike listened and fought for air. His pulse pounded in his ears, too loud, too fast. He slowly registered Ed’s voice joining Faye’s, exaggerated and occasionally blowing raspberries, but following the same, slow rhythm. He listened and he breathed.

He could breathe again.

When he was finally able to, Spike let out a deep, shuddering sigh, cracking his eyes open weakly. Faye stared at him, upside down, her gaze intent and only just losing a layer of concern. His hands lay limply at his sides; Ed was patting a steady beat into his arm, humming lightly.

“Ed, I… what... what the _hell_ are you doing here?” Faye asked, tearing her eyes away to stare at the young girl.

“Ed and Ein return to Bebop,” she chirped, prodding at the scar on Spike’s arm. “Ed and Ein to stay, to stay as we fly, fly away.”

As if on cue, an excited bark rang out down the hall. Spike flinched. Ein rushed down the stairs and into the living area, yipping and barking and racing around the couch. The corgi stopped to perch his front paws on the edge of the couch next to Ed, licking eagerly at Spike’s hand.

“Ed? Ein, get back here! Damn it, Ed, where are you? Look--- oh. Well.”

Jet hurried into the living area, stopping abruptly at the top of the stairs. The older bounty hunter smirked and leaned against the railing.

“I see Spike is now finally surrounded by his three _favorite_ things again,” Jet remarked brightly.

Spike glowered up at him. Ed cackled at his side. Above his head, he heard Faye cough to stifle a laugh. 

Ein barked again, hopping and attempting to jump up onto the couch. Ed reached out, plucking the corgi from the floor and placing him firmly in the center of Spike’s chest. Faye and Jet gasped in surprise. Spike grunted, bracing himself for a bruising. However, Ein merely let out a low whine and lightly licked his face, before rolling slightly to the side and nestling snugly in the crook of his arm. The dog let out a deep, satisfied sigh, his wet snout resting on Spike’s shoulder.

Ed giggled. “Ein missed the Bebop, Bebop. Stop and drop, Ed and Ein recaptured the Bebop!”

Faye sighed next to his ear, her hands running absently through his hair. “Well, there goes the peace and quiet,” she murmured, only loud enough for him to hear.

He could hear the smile in her voice.

Jet came to stand next to the couch, arms crossed. “How’s sleeping beauty doing?” he asked, his smile wavering slightly. Spike didn’t hear Faye respond, but she must have made a face, because Jet’s smile dissolved completely, replaced with a furrowed brow and a heavy sigh.

“Alright, alright, let the man get some rest,” he said finally. “I guess, uh, Ein’s got first watch… That alright with you, Ein?”

Ein huffed of approval. Jet gave a bemused shake of his head as he prodded Faye and Ed.

“Well, good… I guess. _You_ two can come help me with the food; I managed to make it back with everything, even after _Ed_ decided to ditch me halfway to the ship.”

Faye stood and stretched, groaning slightly. She gave Spike’s hair one final parting stroke. “Did you get any actual food this time? Your last shopping trip landed us with two cans of beans and _seven_ _pounds_ of tofu.”

“Hey, tofu is good for you, especially when it’s a good deal _and_ all we can afford---”

Ed hopped to her feet with a giggle as Faye and Jet climbed the stairs, bickering the whole way. She leaned close to Spike’s face, staring intently into his eyes. He tried to glare back at her, but his dream flashed through his mind.

_Her tiny body limp in a pool of blood._

_“Will this make you happy?”_

_No, it didn’t. Of **course** it didn't._

_She needed to live._

_She_ **_deserved_ ** _to live._

Spike blinked, lowering his eyes with a shiver. He could feel Ed still examining his face, but he avoided her gaze stubbornly. 

She gave his nose a small tap.

“Don't worry; Ein is very good at keeping the bad-bad dreams away,” she whispered. “Ein will keep Spike safe.”

She tip-toed dramatically up the stairs and out of view. 

Spike’s eyes burned. He felt Ein resting on his side, his stupid little dog heartbeat a steady rhythm against his chest. The faint sounds of Faye shouting and Ed laughing drifted down the hall, confirming their presence still very nearby.

It was strange, the whole thing. It felt so familiar. So… normal.

_What was normal?_

_What was_ **_his_ ** _normal? He’d been a criminal most of his life, on the run and a bounty hunter for the last three years. What was he now? What was_ **_normal_ ** _anymore?_

_He didn’t have the luxury of normal. He didn’t have the luxury of living on beyond a staircase, beyond a dead past and a murdered future._

_He didn’t want it._

_… He didn’t know if he didn’t want it._

_But he certainly didn’t deserve---_

Ein licked his nose, yanking Spike abruptly from his thought spiral. He glared at the dog on his chest.

“The fuck _you_ want?” he grumbled, still adjusting to the sound of his own voice.

Ein growled, before continuing to lick his face. Spike could do nothing but tensely endure the barrage of affection. The corgi eventually settled again eventually, shimmying closer and resting his snout nearer to Spike’s cheek. Soon the corgi began to snore, his steady breath warm against Spike’s neck.

“Stupid mutt,” Spike murmured, shifting slowly to rest to dog more comfortably against his shoulder. After a moment, he rested a weak hand on Ein’s back.

Spike raised his eyes to the ceiling fan, willing himself to blankly stare at the whirling blades and not think for one damn minute. He followed the fan, the motion constant and mesmerizing. The spinning blades calmed him, unchanging in their pattern and unaffected by dreams or scars.

His breathing deepened, mind mercifully blank and growing steadily foggier. Slowly but surely, his eyelids began to droop. Ein’s heartbeat resonated through his chest, gradually lulling him to sleep.

He would have rolled his eyes if only he could keep them open.

_Stupid mutt_ , he thought dully. _Stupid kid… Stupid friends… Stupid ship…_

_Stupid… home._

In a moment, he had drifted into a peaceful and blissfully dreamless sleep.

In a moment, they were just a tired man and a dog, safe from nightmares in the heart of the Bebop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is Ein an emotional support best friend good boy? Yes, yes he is.
> 
> Is it gonna take Spike fucking forever to admit he cares about other people and doesn't have to be alone anymore?
> 
> Yes.... yes it is.... Damn it. This was another painful one but Spike's gotta be worse before he can be better. It's been really fascinating exploring his thought processes and figuring out rationales that felt natural and made sense to his character.
> 
> Hope you liked! This chapter beat me up in the back of a Denny's parking lot but I eventually got the drop on it and won. Thanks as always for reading!
> 
> (I'm always curious as to what lines stand out to people, btw; if there's been a line or phrase that really hit you where it hurts anywhere in this story, I'd love to know! Not to toot my own horn but I'm damn proud of "Instinct became an anchor to reality." I just thought it was neat :D)
> 
> Edit: I don't fucking know the price of tofu. I'm... I feel a fool. Food is hard. I really should change it to ramen but like the idea just made me laugh too hard


	11. Smiley Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Edward doesn't believe you," she sang with a smirk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couldn't think of a better title but I think this one fits well enough. Chapter 12 will be a sister chapter; I was thinking of making this one a bit longer but the two ideas I want to get across with them felt like their own things, so look out for chapter 12 soon! 
> 
> Also I just found out I'm going to have to start scrambling for a new job soon so updates might be further between, but this fic will go on for a while yet!

The following days were a strain of adjustments for the shabby crew. Each moved about their days, pretending to fall back on old habits and familiar temperaments, but a tense uncertainty hung in the air. Jet set their course for their next bounty and roamed the ship, checking in on the others with an occasional grunt but not sure of what else to say. Faye painted her nails and read constantly, her conversations a touch too short, her voice an octave too high. Ein spent most of his time curled up next to Spike, his ears drooping and snout pushed into the bounty hunter’s side. Ed seemed to be the only one unaffected by the gloom. She giggled and twirled her way through the ship, her nonsense songs the only sound keeping the ship from becoming maddeningly quiet.

Spike watched them all in silence. He watched and listened and slept. Through significant effort, he was able to sit up, but even then he spent most of the time staring up at the fan or dozing. He didn’t have a nightmare for several nights after the first two rude awakenings, but when they returned, they returned with a fervor.

He just got better at hiding them.

He didn’t want the sympathy of his fellow crew members. He didn’t need their worry.

Anytime he awoke, his breath caught in his throat and death heavy behind his eyes, he’d play it off as a yawn, or a painful groan, or some other meaningless exhalation. He thought he saw Jet or Faye eye him curiously a couple of times, but mercifully neither said a word.

The only one who seemed to take any notice was Ein; the corgi would nip his arm or lick his face, insisting on pulling Spike’s focus as soon as he was conscious. He’d clamp a hand over the dog’s face and glare, but Ein would wriggle away and plant himself firmly in Spike’s lap.

_What a nuisance._

  
  


Ed was able to fix the pod in the first two days of her arrival. However, much to Spike’s horror, that meant he needed to use the physical bathroom for the first time in months before the capsule was fixed. He’d attempted to stand on his own, as casually and deliberately as he could, but his knees buckled immediately. Faye had been there to catch him or he’d have broken his nose on the corner of the coffee table. His cheeks burned as Jet took his other arm over his shoulder and the two carried him slowly up the stairs, his feet dragging with every step. He hated how gentle they were, how patiently they assisted him in every menial task.

His frustration never showed on his face. He kept it hidden, his own little secret of shame and resentment, buried and churning in the center of his chest.

The nightmares persisted. Spike began to fight his weariness, lying awake for hours until his head ached or his eyelids turned to lead. Each time he’d awaken, dripping with sweat and shaking from visions of broken bodies and a long lost lover. He thought he'd relish his solitude in the pod once it was repaired, but the floating only brought harsher terrors that threatened to tear his subconscious. On one of the rare occasions that he spoke, he requested more time outside the capsule, under the guise of regaining his strength.

It was easier to stay awake with the constant throbbing of barely healed battle scars. So he spent every possible moment delaying unconsciousness, avoiding their eyes and the phantoms that haunted him. 

He didn’t want their pity.

It burned like ash dissolving on his tongue.

  
  


…………………………………………….

  
  


Faye and Jet left one morning on a mission, insisting it was short and they’d be back by the end of the day. They left him lying comfortably on the couch, joking that it was so he could keep an eye on Ed. Spike knew it was because he’d only just regained enough strength to hobble his way to the restroom, as long as he was leaning on Ed. They were trying to give him a little _freedom_.

He frowned and remained silent, the bitterness fogging the edges of his vision.

He couldn’t speak to them. He couldn’t even _look_ at them as they left.

So he stared up at the fan and watched it twirl, resisting the weariness that threatened to overtake him. 

Ed hummed and chirped to herself, sprawled on the floor near the couch. She tapped merrily away on her computer, giggling every so often or babbling some nonsense for her own benefit. Ein lay beside her, watching the screen. Once, he got up to putter up to Spike and lick the hand dangling precariously over the edge of the couch. Spike pulled it back sharply, grunting as he shot the dog a dirty look. Ein merely barked and returned to nuzzle Ed’s side.

Spike sighed, resuming his dull inspection of the ceiling fan. He tried to ignore Ed’s gentle singing or the rhythmic hum of the ship. He tried to ignore how the space beneath his eyes ached from lack of sleep, or how the fluorescent lights shined a little too bright. He tried to ignore his body growing heavy and detached, every limb seeming to sink deeper into the cushions as the ceiling fan continued to spin. With every sluggish blink, his eyes became harder and harder to open. He fought to stay awake, but the blankets shrouding him were warm, and the ceiling fan was mesmerizing, and he was so, _so_ _tired_ …

  
  


_“It’s all just a dream.”_

_Faye sprawled in his arms, her body growing limper as she gave in to the bullet in her back. The rain beat against his coat and hair, soaking him in seconds._

_It was his fault. She was dead and it was his fault._

_Why did it hurt so much?_

_He couldn’t see out of his right eye._

_A strangled yell rang through the still air. Spike watched his Swordfish sailing pilotless through the sky, Jet’s body harpooned to the front of it._

_His fault._

_His eyes shot back to the body in his hands, only to watch with horror as she dissolved into dust and rose petals._

**_His fault._ **

**_Why was it his fault?_ **

_A small, tan hand lifted his chin, and he stared blankly into Ed’s cloudy eyes. She shuddered as blood began to trickle from the corner of her mouth._

_“Near dead-ward, near dead-ward,” she crooned, sinking slowly to her knees. “Spike-person has killed Faye-Faye, Jet-friend, and last of all the Edward.”_

_She toppled to the ground. Smoke still rose from the gun in Spike’s hand._

  
  
  


He almost head-butted Ed as he snapped awake, breathing hard. He instantly turned away from her, eyes boring into the yellow upholstery. He was getting sick of these shitty dreams.

_They’re not dead._

_It’s not my fault._

_How could it be my fault?_

_I hate this._

_I can't get too close again._

_I'll only hurt them._

_It's my fault._

_I hate this._

**_Make it stop._ **

“Nightmares, nightmares, no-good, very bad nightmares!” Ed sang behind him.

Spike whirled to face her, his cheeks burning. “Leave me alone, kid,” he growled, shakily attempting to push her away.

She merely grasped his hand and used it to pat her own head. “Sleepy sleepy Spike, no sleeping for sad, sleepy Spike. Edward is to keep sleepy Spike company, company!”

He wriggled his hand free and groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, sleepy Spike would prefer if annoying Edward would shut the fuck up and leave him alone.”

After a moment, he bristled. “And don’t say stupid stuff like that. I’m not sad.”

Ed giggled and sprawled upside down on the coffee table. She gazed up at him, waggling her eyebrows. “Then why doesn’t the Spike-person smile?”

Spike glared down at her, but made no reply. He hid well how the question rattled him. Ed rolled onto her stomach and propped herself up on her elbows. “Spike-person has many faces,” she said, grinning. “Spike-person has the angry face, the sleepy face, the hungry face. He has the silly face, the crazy face, sneaky face, the smiley face.”

With each new look, she contorted her face, glaring and grimacing and yawning widely to mimic the man in front of her. At the last expression, she cocked her head to one side with a dramatic sigh. “But Spike-person hasn’t had the smiley face since Edward returned. Edward wonders why.”

Spike fought for a snappy remark, something to end this absurd conversation, but came up empty. He could only stare as she rolled back and forth across the table, warbling yet another of her weird little songs. 

Finally, he sighed and swung his legs off the couch, resting his elbows wearily on his knees. “Look, Ed, I’m not in the mood for games,” he mumbled. “Just… just go away for a bit, I just want to be alone.”

Before he could continue, Ed had scrambled to sit face to face with him. 

“Edward doesn’t believe you,” she sang with a smirk. “Edward knows how lonely dreams can be. Edward and Ein will sit quietly and wait for Spike-person when he wakes, or else will sing and dance and play if that will keep the bad dreams away.”

Suddenly, she reached out her hands and pinched his cheeks, lifting them slightly. “Spike-person used to smile a lot,” she whispered thoughtfully. “Don’t worry, Edward will smile enough for the both of us until Spike-person is ready.”

Ed grinned wider to emphasize her point, her face all teeth and scrunched eyes and childish energy. Spike just stared, numb to his cheeks that were beginning to smart. 

“Howzabout Edward teaches the Spike-person chess??” she shrieked, scrambling away to snatch up her computer.

Spike groaned. “I… Ed, I already know how to play shitting _chess_ \---”

Ed shushed him dramatically, dragging the coffee table closer to the couch and plunking her computer down, a match already initiated on the screen. She picked up Ein and wrestled her way into the pile of blankets. Spike sighed as she began to play and babble on about anything but chess. He leaned heavily on one arm, watching the match with a bemused frown wrinkling his forehead.

Occasionally, he’d clutch at his knee, pinching himself as he felt his senses crumbling and bloody visions he didn’t understand bubbled in his peripheral. When this occurred, Ein squirmed his way behind them to rest against his other side. He was squished between two of the most annoying creatures he’d ever come into contact with, and they insisted on remaining by his side.

He was grateful for the distraction.

And annoyed.

And relieved.

And for not the first time in his life, Spike Spiegel was terrified.

  
He just couldn’t figure out _why_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm getting closer to understanding Spike's internal conflict. It makes me sad. I just want him to have purpose again.
> 
> I want to explore Ed's insane kid wisdom more, but I'm gonna have to rewatch stuff to keep her dialogue and mannerisms accurate. tbh I took some liberties in this chapter (mostly bc it's been a week since I last watched a full episode and my memory is garbage lol), but I just really liked how it turned out. I don't think I'll ever write her perspective, mostly because I genuinely don't know how she thinks. I'm not sure how she's grieving her dad, or taking to the ship again. Maybe she's pretending, maybe she goes off on her own to deal with shit. For now, she sees the tired adults and isn't about their bullshit.
> 
> Note: kids shouldn't have to take care of adults. They do, but they shouldn't have to. The adults will pick themselves up again eventually, and they'll be there to help her if/ when she needs them.
> 
> The line that inspired this whole chapter: “Don’t worry, Edward will smile enough for the both of us until Spike-person is ready.”
> 
> Thanks as always for reading!


	12. However Long It Takes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jet and Faye ask the doctor for advice while topside. He isn't very helpful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These next couple of chapters are going to be really Spike/ Faye heavy in perspective; I still want to get to Jet and Ed, and explore them a bit more, but the story is building in such a way that I felt it really important to keep the focus mainly on them. Don't worry, we'll get goofs and wholesome dad moments and heartfelt conversations, but the story is building and a boy and a girl have the focus for now.

“He’s getting up and about a bit, doc, but he barely talks, and he keeps having these fucking nightmares,” Jet said into his communicator. “We’ve wanted to talk about it, but he’s… It’s like his body is doing better but he still just feels… off. We’re at a loss.”

“Well, intense physical and psychological trauma _will_ do that to you,” came the doctor’s staticy chuckle through the com.

Jet and Faye huddled over the device, ducked in some back alley of Ganymede as they waited for their target to appear later in the day. It was a relatively quick and easy bounty, so they used to trip as an excuse to ring the doctor and ask him the questions that had been plaguing them both since Spike had become more lucid. Faye sighed, attempting to rub the stress knot from the back of her neck.

“When you brought him to me, he was already pretty far gone,” the doctor continued. “I’m honestly amazed he survived as well as he did, and I’m genuinely pleased for you. However, you must understand, he’s not going to so easily return to the man you once knew, if at all.”

“Just tell us what we need to do, doc,” Faye snapped.

“Well, I’m no psychologist, but as a doctor, after treating his injuries I can make a safe assumption that this was no ordinary fight. You never gave me all the details, but am I correct to assume there was something deeply personal involved? Like a... a life-altering change besides a sword to the gut or a bullet in his arm.”

Jet and Faye eyed each other warily.

_Julia._

They hadn’t mentioned her name once in the nearly two months since the events at the Red Dragon Syndicate, but it hung in the air like day-old cigarette smoke, stale and bitter to taste and stubbornly lingering.

“He… he lost someone,” Jet mumbled. “The fight was for revenge.”

Faye glared silently into the grimey cement at their feet.

The doctor sighed. “Love is a hard thing to lose. It’s even harder to let go of.”

“But she _left_ him,” Faye hissed under her breath. “ _She left him for so long like he was nothing.”_

Jet pretended not to hear. 

“The man’s drifting without purpose,” the doctor continued. He was silent for a long time; Jet thought for a moment the line had gone dead when a loud ring of static indicated the doctor loudly exhaling.

_Great. A smoking doctor. Just our luck._

“Regaining purpose is no small feat. Especially if he’d already given up his purpose _before_ he almost died. Now, as he struggles to find a new purpose, his mind may be wrestling still with that loss, even if he outwardly doesn’t express it. Whether guilt, or regret, or grief over the past, he has to work through it or he’ll suffocate on his own memories, so to speak.”

“Real poetic, doc,” Jet grumbled. He leaned heavily on the alley wall. “Now is there fucking anything _we_ can do or are we wasting our time with you?”

“Honestly, not much. Treat him like an adult, like he’s a person, not something fragile that’ll break if you touch it. Give him space but watch that he doesn’t cave in on himself. Again, I’m no psychologist. I don’t know what’ll reach him. But don’t kid yourselves into thinking you’ll replace his past, because you won’t. Be constant; be an anchor. Remain tangible and consistent. If he comes around, all the better that you’ll be waiting for him. If he doesn’t…”

The doctor’s pause was deafening. He sighed again. “Just hope he comes around. I’ve got nothing else for you. Good luck.”

Jet shoved the communicator back into his pocket with a frustrated grunt. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to hide the glance he shot Faye’s way as he sighed. She leaned against the wall next to him, arms crossed and face turned towards the busy street. 

“We can’t lose him, Jet,” she whispered, just loud enough for him to hear. “I _won’t_ lose him again.”

She didn’t see him, but he nodded firmly. “We won’t. Whatever it takes, however long it takes. We’ll wait for him.”

  
  


…………………………………………….

  
  


They returned late that evening, bounty turned in and reward collected, to find their fellow crew members still gathered in the living room. Spike sat leaning forward with his head in one hand, Ed and Ein curled up on either side. Ed’s computer lay open, an abandoned chess game flickering above the screen. The three were fast asleep, though Spike’s forehead was furrowed and he twitched occasionally.

Spike jolted awake as they tread heavily down the stairs. He shook himself and yawned, nodding vaguely as they collapsed into their respective seats. Faye bit back a comment on how tired he still looked, or how his limbs retained a slight tremble that he tried to hide under his collection of blankets.

He tried to hide a lot from them, but Faye and Jet both saw how little he was sleeping, and that when he did, it was a small reprieve that was quickly replaced with silent shudders and sharp breaths. 

She felt so helpless, but she knew him well enough to know he was too stubborn to ask for help, and even less willing to _accept_ help if offered directly.

But she didn’t know what else to do.

So she waited and watched, trying to hide how much it hurt as he sat awake, tense and shaking and just out of reach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha ha ha, it's gotta hurt more before it hurts less.
> 
> And trust me. Its Gonna Hurt More.
> 
> Thanks for reading! I'm sorry if your hearts hurt as much as mine rn :D
> 
> Also try and ignore the fact that apparently Spike and Ed spent the entire fucking day just sitting on that couch. And apparently didn't get anything to eat or take a leak. Minor details. Shrug emoji.


	13. Broken Constellations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Can I tell you a story, Faye?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep trying to get a couple chapters ahead and like, spread them out so it's something to look forward to, but then I get rolling and I write two and a half chapters a day and I JUST CAN'T HELP IT! I'm going back to work soon (when I... get a job), so updates WILL cease to be the every or every other day I've been managing, but for now enjoy the absurd amount of updating I can manage. Enjoy!

It was late. Ed and Ein sprawled lazily on the floor of the living room, fast asleep and snoring up a storm. Faye stared resolutely at a bounty list on the rickety screen, scanning it for anything potentially interesting. Jet sat hunched on the stairs, smoking and staring absently into space.

Spike was playing solitaire on the table by the couch, where he seemed to be living these days. He could passably stumble his way from room to room, but he chose to remain out here with the lights on.

The darkness of his room or the pod made it too easy to sleep. Too easy to dream.

Jet finally stood with a groan, grounding the last of his cigarette into the railing. “Well, I’m goin’ to bed,” he yawned, scratching his beard sleepily. “Anyone need anything before bed?”

“Maybe you can take the noisemakers on the floor with you so I can get some damn peace and quiet,” Spike mumbled, eyes decidedly fixed on his game.

The older bounty hunter hesitated, the tension palpable in the room. Faye remained silent. Eventually, Jet sighed and gathered up the sleeping child and dog, carrying them gently out of the room.

Spike could feel Faye’s eyes flitting towards him occasionally as he reshuffled the deck of cards. She’d offered them to him several days earlier, and he’d begrudgingly accepted. Now, alone with her, he regretted it.

Spike heard her shift uncomfortably in her seat. He blatantly ignored her, setting up another game for himself. Finally, she sighed.

“Spike,” Faye began, the uncertainty heavy in her voice, “I… you… fuck, um… shit.”

His eyes narrowed, but he focused resolutely on the cards.

_Not now. Not fucking now._

_Please, just leave me alone._

She tried again, taking a deep breath. “Spike, look, I know that… I know you’re sick of being stuck here, but just… you’ll be out there again in no time. And… if… look, if you need to talk, you know Jet and I---”

“Why did you bring me back.”

His voice was low, but the question seemed to echo in the quiet room. Spike saw her straighten up out of the corner of his eye. He tried to keep his eyes level, movements casual as he shifted cards into place.

“What do you mean?”

“You heard me.”

Faye sighed. “Damn it Spike, because we fucking care about you, alright. Isn’t it obvious?”

His hand hesitated over a card. The queen of hearts.

\----

_All he had to do was push._

_He’d already died twice, what was one more metaphorical death?_

_The death of a friendship was better than the death of a friend._

_He didn’t need the extra weight._

_Even if he was stuck with them for now, he didn’t want them to care about him._

_He didn’t_ **_need_ ** _their care._

_He’d only hurt them._

_It was the only thing he’d been able to think about, that he’d dreamed about._

_He’d already lost so much. He’d lost his youth, his love, his life._

_She was dead because he lived._

_What was one more broken heart, if it kept them free of him?_

_He was just another curse in the universe._

_All he had to do was push._

_And then they’d be free. She’d be free of caring about him._

_And then maybe he could sleep._

_Maybe he could finally get some fucking sleep if they just didn’t care._

_So that he didn’t care._

_He could sleep if he didn’t care._

_All he had to do was push._

So he pushed.

\----

“Can I tell you a story, Faye?” Spike responded slowly, his voice barely concealing the tension in his shoulders or the dull throbbing in his head.

He dimly registered her nodding before he began to speak.

“Once there was a blue star, one among an enormous sea of stars. The star drifted through space, free and directionless. He joined a constellation, Orion’s belt. Three stars, including himself, one yellow, one red. They drifted for a time and space, with purpose. He fell in love with the yellow star. The red star slowly grew and began to suffocate his fellow stars.

The blue star asked the yellow star to leave with him, to drift the sky with him. But the red star grew angry, and the constellation dissolved. The yellow star ran away, and he couldn’t find her, no matter how hard he searched. 

Eventually, the blue star joined another constellation. It was the Little Dipper. The Little Dipper was bigger and more crowded than Orion’s belt, but it picked a random direction and he followed. The constellation continued to drift through space, passing by nebulae and black holes and wandering the skies. 

One day, they stumbled upon the other two stars from Orion. The red star killed the yellow star, so the blue star killed the red star. He watched them slowly as their lights flickered out.”

“... Stop.”

Spike ignored her and continued. “The blue star watched, and he wondered. Then, he began to flicker out himself. The Little Dipper panicked and one by one, the other stars began to burn brighter, transferring to him their light.”

“Spike---”

“Slowly, his light returned. But it was gray. He turned to find the other stars, but the Little Dipper had all but blinked out---”

Spike paused, flinching as he saw the impending slap approaching in his peripheral.

But it never came. He spared a glance upward; Faye stood over him, hand inches from his face, her whole body trembling furiously.

“Is that what you think of us?” she hissed, fury and grief burning in her eyes. “You think we’re killing ourselves by _saving you_?”

She turned away, curling her hands into shaking fists. “Fuck you, Spike Spiegel. Fuck you and your stupid face and your _oh-so-tragic_ past and your _fucking loner complex_.”

She faced him again, angry tears trailing down her cheeks. “I know what this is, and fuck you for thinking I’m going to let it happen,” she continued, jabbing his chest roughly. “I’ve done it myself and it doesn’t fucking solve anything. Don’t hate yourself just for being alive. Don’t push people away just because you’re scared to care again. _It just makes you alone_. Is that what you want, Spike? Do you want to be alone?”

He met her eyes steadily. His voice sounded hollow to his own ears. “Yes. Yes I do.”

A shadow fell across Faye’s face as she lowered herself to sit on the coffee table. She glared up at him, searching his face so intensely he blinked and let his head fall back to rest on the back of the couch. He pretended to study the ceiling fan, refusing to acknowledge her. The silence was sharp between them; he felt her gaze burning a hole in his neck, but he didn’t lift his head to face her.

Wouldn't... Or couldn't.

“Well, too _fucking_ bad. Jet and I lost you once, and I’ll be _damned_ if we lose you again, even to yourself. So just… just stop. Stop pushing us away. _Stop hating yourself for caring. Stop wanting to be alone._ ”

Her voice shook, but she charged through, biting back hiccups and fresh tears. “It’s… it’s okay to… _I_ thought it’d be easier to be alone. I spent _so long_ running, I forgot _why_ I was running. Towards my past, _away_ from my past… whatever. Wherever. Then I found you, and Jet, and this ship, and Ed and Ein, and we sailed and we laughed and we fought and for the first time… I wasn’t running. I was _living_.

Then I found a piece of my past, and I thought I needed it. I thought I _wanted_ it. But when I remembered, when I _finally_ learned who I was and what my life could have been… It wasn’t me anymore. It was just empty memories. And I was okay with that. Because… because of you, and those other idiots, and this place.”

He heard her clothes rustle as she leaned toward him. Spike continued to study the whirling blades above his head.

“You’re a living contradiction, Spike Spiegel. You know that? You _hate_ dogs, but you saved Ein and brought him to the Bebop. You _hate_ kids, and yet you’d buy trinkets for Ed even when you sure as hell didn’t have the woolong to spare. You hate _me_ , but you helped Jet figure out that tape. You saved me in that chapel. Time and time again, you’ve risked your life to protect us, _all_ of us. Even your shitty excuse for a story… You talk big, pretending that we’re all just some _burden_ being forced upon you. But you care, Spike. You care and that _scares_ you.”

Anger and resentment boiled in Spike’s chest. He brought his head up, ignoring a dizzying wave of nausea as he glared coldly back at her. “I’m nothing like you, Faye,” he spat. “I don’t run away in the pathetic hopes that I’ll be followed. I’m not some damsel in distress who asked to be rescued.”

“No, Spike, you’re not,” she bit back, standing and leaning towards him. “Contrary to what you may have convinced yourself, you’re just _human._ And human beings were never meant to be alone.”

He scowled after Faye as she turned and stalked away. She paused at the top of the stairs, giving him one last pained look. “I can’t give you purpose, Spike, and I don’t intend to. Whatever might have happened, you’re alive now. I don’t regret saving you, and I never will. I pray you figure yourself the fuck out soon, because I… damn it Spike, I _miss_ you. I miss being your comrade. So... live. Live and know I’m not losing you again. I refuse to.” 

With that, she disappeared through the doorway, leaving Spike to glare up at the ceiling fan, angry and confused and alone.

He’d thought he’d wanted to be alone.

But she was right.

It really was just that.

Lonely.

Painfully, troublingly _lonely._

  
  


…………………………………………….

  
  


He didn’t expect her to return so soon. He didn’t expect her to return at all.

It might have been an hour or several; time felt fuzzy in his sleep-deprived state. He attempted to finish his game, but he lost himself multiple times, just staring blankly at the cards.

He barely registered when she reentered the room. He barely registered when she sat next to him, her knee brushing his leg. He ignored the hand that rested gently on his arm.

_Still fucking gentle._

**_Why won’t she stop?_ **

“Spike,” she began, her voice painfully soft and agonizingly kind. “Spike, it’s been hours. You need to sleep.”

He shrugged her off, the weariness eating him alive making it hard to concentrate. He reached out for a card, but his hand wobbled without permission. Her hand rested on top of his, and he flinched.

“I’m fine,” he murmured.

She sighed. “Yeah… yeah, I know.”

A sharp and sudden pinch in his neck. Something shooting through his veins. Spike swatted her hand, shocked and angry, but the damage was done. He could already feel his body growing limp, his consciousness slipping away. He swore under his breath, even as he slumped against her and felt her arms wrap around his sides. He wanted to stop her as she called for Jet, but he was losing focus, head lolling against her shoulder and eyes fluttering closed. He was slipping, and he hated it, but he hated more how firm and comforting her arms were around him, how soft her voice was against his neck. 

He’d pushed. He’d pushed and it’d hurt but he’d pushed to make it hurt _less_.

But this damn woman kept pushing back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh you thought the pain train was over? It hasn't even left the STATION, BABY!
> 
> I tried my darndest to create a lil' "story" like they had in the show with with the tiger-striped cat and the like; dunno if I did okay or not but it's the best I got. CaN yOu SpoT tHe PaRaLLeLs? 
> 
> *sigh* I make myself so sad. Hope I made you sad too ;D thanks for reading!


	14. Who are you trying to protect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couldn't think of another chapter title so *finger guns* you take what you can get
> 
> Also ha ha... I was gonna... I was gonna wait until tomorrow to post this, because two chapters in one day is honestly just ridiculous, but... but it was THERE and WRITTEN and I couldn't HELP it, okay?? Don't @ me, just read and weep.
> 
> I mean... no weeping. There's... nothing sad happens in this chapter, no no no. No sad.
> 
> Definitely no sad.
> 
> Enjoy.

Spike lay on the surface of the sun.

It was too dark to be the sun.

Maybe he was just hot.

The air was suffocating, it was so hot.

Why was it so hot?

_... Water._

He strained at the blankets tangled around his body. Every inch of skin was slick with sweat, and his clothes stuck uncomfortably. Spike managed to tug off his shirt, only to have violent shivers ripple down his spine.

_Hot_ **_and_ ** _cold. Great. Just great._

He felt the last of the sedatives fading as he registered vaguely where he was. His room. His memories began to return soon after, and he scowled.

_Fucking woman. Fucking Jet._

Spike struggled into a sitting position. His head felt like it was splitting from the effort, but he had to get up.

He had to… do something.

_Water. I need water._

He rolled to the edge of the bed and tried to stand, but his legs gave way immediately and he collapsed to the floor. The world spun and he felt bile churning in his stomach, threatening to surge up his throat. He hissed a curse as he crawled to the door of his room.

_I was getting better. I was getting_ **_stronger_ ** _. Now it’s like I’m back to fucking square one._

_Why’s it so hot?_

With considerable effort, he managed to pull the door open and tumble weakly out of his room. He lay on the floor of the outer chamber, turning his eyes away from the moving wall and fixing them on the grates at his side.

_Everything needed to fucking stop spinning for two seconds._

Sweat continued to bead on his forehead as he struggled to rise and keep his eyes open at the same time. He managed gradually to pull himself into a standing position, leaning heavily on the wall and breathing heavier still.

_Just gotta get to the kitchen, grab some water, and fucking lie down again without getting caught. Simple. I can take care of my fucking self. I don’t need them._

His vision swam as he stumbled down the hall, keeping one shoulder pressed against the metal corridor. The shivers intensified, spreading throughout his entire body from his shoulders down to his feet. Red and black spots began to burst in his eyes, but he blinked them away and tried to ignore how heavy his breathing was becoming.

_“Damn it, Spike, I_ **_miss_ ** _you.”_

Just… had to get to the kitchen.

_“Live and know I’m not losing you again. I refuse to.”_

He shook his head, the fog filling his brain growing overwhelming.

“Leave me alone,” he mumbled, waving a hand at the phantom Faye in his ears. “You don’t need me.”

_“Edward doesn’t believe you.”_

The child’s voice rang like a gunshot, echoing painfully in his mind. He shook his head again, ran an unsteady hand through his hair.

“Why can’t you let me go?” he breathed. “Just… just let me go.”

_“Why can’t you just let it go?”_ Jet’s voice rumbled a response. _“Forget the past.”_

“Fuck you, Jet; I _am_ the past,” Spike hissed.

He screwed his eyes shut against the nausea still fighting to rise up his esophagus. Their voices, familiar and aggravating and everywhere, roared in his ears. He gripped the wall, pushing his forehead against the cool metal, trying to overcome the shivering and the heat and how angry he was.

How angry he was at _them_.

No. Not them.

_… I’m angry at myself._

_I’m pathetic. I couldn’t convince her the first time… and when she_ **_finally_ ** _followed me in the end, she died._

_I couldn’t protect her._

_I’m a curse to her memory._

His skin was on fire. His head felt heavy and gray and burned like the engines of his ship.

_I’m a curse to everyone around me. Julia. Annie. Fucking Vicious even, the bastard… Everything I touch dies._

_I… I don’t want them to die. No more people… No more…_

Spike banged his head against the wall in his frustration. The impact jolted him awake momentarily, but now his head screamed in pain of the physical kind. Something trickled slowly down his forehead and the world spun faster.

He thought he heard something down the hall. A shift and he narrowed his eyes at the dark circular space. Was it dark? The lights were on, but everything was dimming. He thought he saw something small, padding softly towards him.

A dog.

_The_ dog.

It was probably a hallucination, but he glared down at the shimmering figure nonetheless.

_“Got some sage advice on how I’m better alive, Ein?”_ he grumbled. The black spots were getting harder to blink away.

The shimmer cocked its head to the side, but made no sound. He chuckled, delirium making his eyes cross. His _eye_ cross. He hadn’t been able to see out of his right eye for weeks.

He pushed slowly against the wall, willing himself to stand without its aid.

_“I don’t need you,”_ he choked, his whole body trembling as he raised a weak finger to point at the mirage. _“I don’t need you… or them… or anyone… I…_ **_you_ ** _don’t… You don’t_ **_need_ ** _me… You don’t…”_

The air churned, whimsical spirals of light weaving confusing patterns around his head. His knees were locking, but he couldn’t do anything to stop it. The heat was suffocating. The mirage of the dog whined at him from thousands of miles away.

Darkness crept further at the edges of his vision. The hall was beginning to tilt an alarming degree.

_Stop spinning…_

His head was too heavy, his body practically melting into the floor.

_Stop spinning..._

Somewhere in his mind, Spike registered the floor rising to meet him---

**_Thud._ **

  
  


…………………………………………….

  
  
  


Ein was smart. Ein was smarter than his humans gave him credit for. He understood them, mostly, even if they didn’t understand him. He could understand the tones of their voices; he could hear their heartbeats and feel their moods when they pet him. 

They fed him and called him and ignored him. They grumbled and fought and teased, and they were together again, this ragtag group of humans. Their job was to feed him, to feed themselves.

_His_ job was to protect them.

Ein padded softly towards Spike’s motionless form, letting out another low whimper. He licked the man’s furrowed brow, attempting to rouse him.

Salty and warm. Too warm.

He nudged Spike’s head lightly, releasing a low ruff.

No response.

Ein nudged his shoulder, harder. He licked his face again, licked the blood away from the cut on his forehead.

Spike remained still.

The corgi sniffed hesitantly around Spike’s body, pressing an ear to his side. The man was still moving, still breathing. His heartbeat raced under his skin. His skin was too warm for a regular human.

Ein barked loudly and raced down the hallway, searching. All the doors looked the same, but they weren’t. He’d seen them, each human go into the doors. They each had a door.

He skittered to a halt in front of Jet’s door and resumed barking, throwing his small body against the porthole. 

_“Ein, it's the middle of the night. Shut up!”_

Ein yipped with frustration, throwing himself once again against the metal door. It stung, it hurt a lot, but he didn’t stop.

His job was to protect them.

The door finally slid open; Jet yawned and scratched his head, glaring blearily down at the agitated dog.

“Alright, alright, alright,” he mumbled, reaching out a hand to scratch Ein’s ears. “I’m up, I’m up. What’s the matter?”

Ein growled, nipping at the hand and bolting out of reach. He barked, turning in a circle and racing a little ways down the hall. He paused, looking back to find Jet following him curiously.

"Ein? What's the matter?"

The corgi barked and dashed away again, coming to a stop by Spike's crumpled form. He whined, nudging at the bounty hunter's slack shoulder.

“Ein, where are you--- aw shit. FAYE!”

Ein ignored the sliding doors and rising voices, instead poking Spike’s shoulder again and continuing to lick his face. Jet hurried to them and turned the limp man on his side, checking for a pulse, any indication of life.

Ein whined, huffing lightly into Spike’s feverish chest. He could still feel the heat in his skin. The shivering confused him, so he nuzzled closer.

It was his job to protect them.

Jet lifted the man deftly and rushed him down the hall, Ein following close behind. Faye and Ed joined them, the shouting and confusion only building as Jet hurried into their shower room, resting Spike gently in the tub. He turned on the water and instructed Faye to get some ice. She sprinted away without a moment’s hesitation.

Spike’s arm hung limply over the side. Ein licked at his hand. Still salty. Still shaking.

Ed danced and bounced behind Jet as the water rose, frantic questions bubbling over. Faye scrambled back into the room, dumping a bowl full of ice into the churning water. Spike grimaced in his sleep, head lolling dangerously close to the water's surface. Ein barked again to warn them, tugging at Jet’s shirt.

Jet flinched the dog away and reached out a hand to steady Spike. He shouted at Ed, ordering her to get the damn mutt of the room. Ein whined as he was lifted and hurried from the room, held close to Ed’s racing heart. She stumbled into the hall, sinking to the floor just outside the room. She grasped Ein tighter, whispering soothingly in his ear even as he struggled.

“It’s okay, Ein,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “Spike’ll be okay. Faye-Faye and Jet will take care of him. He’ll be okay.”

Ein whimpered into Ed’s shoulder, straining to hear the sound of running watered and the aggravated voices of his humans. Ed shook harder, and the corgi paused to lick her eyes. Salty.

She giggled slightly and hiccuped. Ein nuzzled closer, feeling Ed bury her face in his fur. Her breathing eased as she cuddled him. He gave a deep sigh. This was what he could do now.

It was his job to protect them. Any way he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did anyone see that coming? Did anyone guess that I'd write EIN'S perspective? I sure as hell didn't, yet here we are. And damn it, it fit.
> 
> Also lol @myself the chapters keep hurting; when's the happy gonna come back? I miss it.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think!
> 
> Edit: had to rework this bc I realized I didn't fucking know how the ship works and I still don't??


	15. What do you see?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In his fever, Spike is given another talking-to. Will he listen this time?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been receiving so many nice comments and honestly I am so honored that y'all are liking this story. It started with four wildly specific chapters and no clear direction afterwards, but as I've been thinking and outlining, these relationships and the complexities of these people have just been bringing me so much joy and entertainment and I feel like I can't write fast enough. I hope you don't mind my either vague or just entirely unhelpful chapter summaries; I am not le good at them. Hope you enjoy, and let me know what you think!

Jet leaned wearily against the tub, resting his head in his hands. He’d gotten maybe four hours of sleep before Ein had barked him awake and led him to Spike’s collapsed body. It’d been another three hours of waiting, refilling the ice bath and replacing wet towels on his forehead.

Spike shuddered in his sleep, quiet murmurs the only breaks in his fitful breathing. His fever showed no sign of easing. Jet was relieved they’d been able to keep it from rising any further, but the poor man still burned much hotter than he had any reason to. 

Faye sat on the floor across from him, dozing against the wall. She’d fallen asleep about ten minutes prior, lost in thought as she stared in pained silence at the man in the bathtub.

Jet sighed and stood, grabbing a dry towel from the shelf. He draped it around her, careful not to wake her.

_This ship used to be so quiet… So calm… With so much less worry, or late nights, or damned uncertainty. Damn it, where’d the peace go?_

He glanced to the side, already knowing the answer as he gazed into his friend’s restless face. Spike’s eyes fluttered momentarily as he shifted, his cheeks flushed from the fever. His lips moved, though barely any sound came out. He’d been delirious for hours, occasionally saying words that made no sense together.

He said “no” the most.

Jet didn’t know what that “no” meant, and he didn’t like it.

The older bounty hunter sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that night. He knelt slowly by the tub, crossing his arms and resting them on the edge. He watched Spike’s chest rise and fall, unease a now familiar resident in his stomach.

_It couldn’t have been the sedatives,_ he thought, recalling his and Faye’s desperate attempt to get the man to sleep. _We were just trying to help… He’s been eating, he hasn’t tried overexerting himself… Damn it, Spike, why are you like this?_

Jet reached out a hand and felt his forehead. No change. The older bounty closed his eyes, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming in frustration.

Just as he was about to pull away, Spike stirred under his hand.

_“... ou… don’t… nee… m…”_

Jet started at his voice. Spike’s eyes were still closed, but his cheeks twitched as if he were trying to open them. His neck tensed, shoulders quivering in the ice water. Jet leaned closer.

“Spike?”

Spike’s head jerked weakly towards his voice. His eyelids fluttered.

_“... don’t… need…”_

Jet gripped the edge of the tub. “Don’t talk, you idiot,” he muttered. “You’ve got a fever, no thanks to your self-inflicted insomnia. Which we _had_ noticed, in case you’d been wondering.”

Spike groaned, his arms trembling at his sides. Slowly, with difficulty, his eyelids cracked open. Jet stared numbly into the dead artificial eye. The thing had lost its color over time, for whatever reason. It was glassy and still, with just the barest memory of brown remaining in the iris. Jet wasn’t sure how it worked or if it was _supposed_ to do that, but it served as another reminder of Spike’s current crossroad.

Whether he’d fight to live or give in to his own misery and fade away.

“Is this an ‘in your head’ kinda thing?” Jet asked quietly, a thought striking him. “Uh, I mean, not that the fever’s in your head, it’s obviously not, we’ve been sitting here for fucking hours, but… oh, forget it.”

Spike’s brow furrowed sluggishly, an eyebrow slightly cocked.

_Confusion. So he’s lucid enough to listen, at least. That’s progress of some sort._

Jet rested his chin in his hand, still leaning against the tub. “What’re we gonna do with you, Spike?” he said, shaking his head with a grunt.

Spike’s eyes rose vacantly to the ceiling.

_“... emme… go…”_

“What?”

Spike took a deep, shuddering breath, fighting to regain his voice. _“Let… me… go.”_

Jet snorted. “Like hell we will. In your condition?”

_“I… killed… her… Jet.”_

The older bounty hunter rose up slightly on his knee, staring in confusion. Spike’s features were tight with concentration, and there was poorly concealed pain in his grimace.

_“I… loved… Julia… and… I killed… her.”_

“So it _is_ a head thing,” Jet murmured under his breath. “She chose her own path, Spike; her life was never yours to decide.”

Spike’s eyes flickered to the side; the look in them made Jet’s heart drop.

_“I… can’t… you… don’t… need… m… e…”_

Jet waited in stunned silence as Spike grew quiet, fighting for more shaky breaths. The feverish bounty hunter held his gaze for a moment, before returning his gaze wearily to the ceiling.

_“I’m… cursed… Jet… a fire… that just… burns… the people… around me...”_

The older bounty hunter lowered his eyes, baffled at what he was hearing.

_“Let… me… go. You… don’t… need… me…”_

It was slow. It started in his chest, working its way up to his throat. He couldn’t believe it himself, at first. But gradually, Jet started to laugh.

Spike lowered his eyes again to the bounty hunter, frowning as Jet fought to conceal his laughing fit behind his hands. 

“You bastard,” Jet chuckled, slowly regaining his composure. “You stupid, stupid bastard. I hope this pity party is almost over, because it’s getting pretty old.”

Spike’s eyes flashed; he shook in the tub, struggled to get a grip on the sides as he tried to raise himself up. Jet placed a hand in the center of his chest, holding him easily below the water. The older bounty hunter’s expression turned to steal. 

“I know Faye already spoke to you. I don’t know what she said, but apparently nothing got through to you. There’ll come a time where we’re gonna have a long, _long_ talk, and you can say your fill, but for now you’re gonna _listen_.”

Spike stared back blankly, his lips a tight line.

“One, don’t assume for a second that our worlds revolve around you, Spike. You never used to think that, so I don’t know what the _fuck_ happened to make you think otherwise. Second, we didn’t save you for you. It was entirely selfish. I’ll admit... I almost let you go. But then I remembered underneath all that shrugging and indifferent exterior was a man I trusted. A brother. A _friend_. And that friend was tearing himself apart from the inside-out.”

Spike glared but kept his mouth shut.

“You’re beating yourself up over a delusion, Spike. The world still turns, with or without the dead, but you’re not one of them. Not yet. Whatever this is, this… I dunno, guilt, self-hatred, regret, whatever you wanna call it. It’s gotta stop. You said it yourself, you can’t do anything for her now. She’s gone. So let her go.”

_“I…”_

“Spike, letting go of the past doesn’t mean forgetting about it. It’s just learning to forgive yourself. Regret and guilt… they’re parasites. They feed on the human condition, and we let them.”

Jet reached out suddenly and gripped both sides of Spike’s face, the latter jolting in surprise. The older bounty hunter pressed his thumb over the artificial eye.

“Tell me what you see,” Jet murmured. “I know the fucking eye is dead, but apparently you need a reminder. Now tell me what the fuck you see.”

Spike narrowed his eye with another grimace. Slowly, the tension bled away as he searched Jet’s face.

_“... An… ass… hole…”_

Jet kept his finger firmly over Spike’s right eye. “Try again.”

_“... Je…”_

“You know what _I_ see?”

_“...”_

“I see you, Spike. I see my friend, in the present, _alive_ . I see Faye, and Ed, and Ein. And I know _damn_ well that you see them, too. You’re just fighting yourself, trying to pretend you don’t. That you don’t _want_ to. It’s like… what, somehow your past and your present would be better off without you? If you’d never existed, that she _might_ be alive? Maybe, maybe not. But that’s not for you to know or decide.”

Jet sighed, closing his eyes and lowering his head slightly. “Spike… damn it, Spike. No, I didn’t need you before we met, but that’s changed. Faye didn’t need us, either, but that’s _changed_ . We know it. _You_ know it. I know you do, you fucking idiot.”

He couldn’t stop himself from shaking Spike. The bounty hunter continued to stare resolutely back, left eye full of shame and anger. “Wake up, Spike. Julia wasn’t a dream. Neither are we. It’s real, all of it, and yeah, it _fucking_ hurts sometimes. You get burned and you lose and you get the fuck back up again. You fall asleep, and you wake up the next day and live. That’s just how life is. You know that better than anyone. So tell me, you bastard, _what do you see?_ ”

Spike closed his eyes with a grimace, struggling faintly to turn away in Jet’s hands. The older bounty hunter wanted to punch him, but instead he released him, standing with an exhausted grunt. He folded his arms, glaring wearily at the wall.

_“... Death.”_

Jet glanced down. Spike was staring at the ceiling again, his expression unreadable.

_“When… I dream… all I see… is death…”_

Spike blinked weakly. For a moment, all Jet could see was his weariness.

_“I’ve… shot Ed… I’ve… lost Faye… I… I k… killed_ **_you_ ** _… Jet…”_

Jet held his breath in silence. Spike continued to blink up at this ceiling, his brow furrowing slightly.

_“I don’t… want… I can’t… I don’t know what… to do.”_

Jet snorted. He lowered himself heavily to the floor and sat against the tub, bumping Spike’s elbow lightly with the back of his head.

“You still don’t get it,” he sighed. “Nightmares are what we fear, not what we _are_ , Spike. Dreams can be guidance, or they can be warnings, depending on how you look at them. But right now, you’re awake and alive. You’re not your dreams. You’re real, and tangible, and so are we. So when your eyes are _open_ , when you’re not dreaming, what do you see?”

Silence. Faye murmured in her sleep. In the hall, Jet could hear Ed and Ein snoring softly.

_“... The… shower… head…”_

Jet rolled his eyes. “Spike, I swear---”

_“You… fixed… it.”_

Jet turned, his confusion and surprise evident on his face as he looked at his friend. “So?”

Spike blinked lazily up at the shower head. _“Faye… broke it… a long… time ago…”_

“Yeah, when you barged in on her when she wasn’t decent, you idiot.”

The corners of Spike’s mouth twitched ever so slightly. _“I… can’t… get rid… of you… can I?”_

Slowly, Jet smiled. “You’ve already tried; look where that got you. Trust me, we’re a stubborn bunch. Like mold. We’ll just keep coming back.”

Spike exhaled, closing his eyes. Jet turned his back again, the smirk still comfortable on his lips. He shrugged to himself. “Maybe it’s destiny, Spike. Maybe we’re all just meant to be together.”

_“... That’s… stupid…”_

“You got a fever from being sad, don’t tell me about stupid.”

An indignant grunt and a weak elbow to the back of his head. Jet smirked.

_“... I hate… mold…”_

“... Me too, Spike. Now get some rest; you’re gonna get better and you’re gonna _like_ it. You never really answered my question, but I’ll let it go for now. Oh, and you’ll be apologizing to the girls and the dog at one point for scaring them.”

Spike groaned loudly. _“Don’t… wanna…”_

“Too fucking bad, idiot. You scared them half to death.”

_“... Why… the dog…?”_

“Ein was the one the found you, shithead. He tried to break down my door himself.”

_“... Mother… fucker…”_

Jet laughed. It felt good to laugh again. “Go to sleep, Spike.”

_“... Can’t. Don’t… wanna…”_

“Well then, pretend to. It’ll make me feel better.”

_“... Mmm… snore…”_

“Bastard.”

_“... Asshole…”_

  
  
  


Spike’s fever fell gradually over the following day; it broke in two. His sleeping was still sporadic and restless, but one of the crew was always by his side, a hand on his arm or merely sitting nearby and keeping him company.

They were like mold. They just kept coming back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I just pull a Zuko on Spike? Yes I did.
> 
> Was it necessary? Absolutely.
> 
> Am I relieved to have him finally coming to his senses and stop being stupid maybe soon? Fuck yeah. 
> 
> I felt it really important that Jet be the one to make a breakthrough with him, honestly. There's a part of me that knows Faye will be a bigger part of his healing, but I don't want it to be ONLY on her shoulders, bc then their relationship would just be "boo hoo sad boy" and "omg ilu sad girl." That's just not how these two idiots are, and I want to take it slow and have it fall naturally where it will.
> 
> And naturally they'll make out one day. Who knows when, who knows how.
> 
> I PROMISE IT'LL HAPPEN THO.
> 
> Thanks again for reading! Stay safe, stay healthy, and stay kind.


	16. Probably Nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew slowly begins to settle again. Just a quick chapter for all your fluffy needs.

Faye nursed the mug in her hand, leg bouncing nervously as she glanced up at Spike. He hadn’t really said anything after his collapse, and even though his fever had broken and he was back on the couch, he still felt far away, just out of reach. She and the rest of the Bebop crew faced him, waiting patiently as he stared at the coffee table, expressionless. Jet had informed them that he had something to say, but as she sat watching her weak comrade in silence, Faye doubted very strongly that anything was really coming.

Spike’s stomach rumbled. He sighed, looking irritably towards Jet.

“Can’t this---”

“No,” Jet huffed from over Faye’s shoulder. “No, it really can’t. Now say it.”

Spike groaned loudly, leaning his head wearily in his hands. Ed hummed brightly on the floor to Faye’s right, Ein secured firmly in her lap. Faye took a sip of coffee, grimacing at the bitterness.

They waited some more.

“Spike, I am not afraid to starve this out of you---”

“Alright, alright, already,” Spike snapped, throwing his arms up in defeat. “I’m sorry, okay??”

Faye blinked sharply. Jet tapped his finger on the back of Faye’s chair. “Keep going.”

“I’m sorry… forrr… damn it Jet, I’m hungry---”

_“Spike.”_ Jet’s voice fell dangerously calm. 

Spike rubbed the back of his neck, unable to meet their eyes. “I’m sorry… for… making you all worry,” he mumbled.

“And?”

Another groan. “And… aaand for… ugh, and for being an asshole all the time…”

_“And?”_

“... Jet, don’t make me say it.”

Jet shrugged. “No dinner then.”

Spike’s shoulders sagged. With a sigh, he gestured vaguely towards Ein. “And… thank you… _Ein_ … for… finding me.. I’d probably be a puddle in the cooling system by now or something. Fuck, alright, I said it, now can we _please_ eat?”

Ed giggled and rushed at Spike, tossing Ein in his lap and wrapping her arms securely around his neck. “We forgive you, we forgive you!” she cried with glee.

Faye laughed, the tension leaving her shoulders as she watched Spike struggle fruitlessly against Ed’s iron grip. Jet patted Faye’s shoulder gently and wandered off to the kitchen. She could see him chuckling as he left.

“Alright, alright, leggome,” Spike grumbled, barely managing to pry Ed’s arms from around his neck and holding her at arm’s length. “You’re still annoying.” 

She merely laughed, curling up beside him and singing loudly as Ein wagged his tail happily in his lap. “Annoying Edward, annoying Edward! Sleepy Spike, Flirty Faye, Jumboooo Jet!”

Faye froze, her cheeks flushing. Spike snorted.

“Hey brat, what’s _that_ supposed to mean?” she yelled, scrambling over the coffee table to make a grab at Ed. She tumbled away, laughing loudly as she leapt behind the couch. She reached her hands around and gripped Spike’s cheeks, pulling them downward as her voice turned low and comical.

“Sad, sleepy Spike,” she cried, “maybe flirty Faye can make him feel better!”

It was Spike’s turn to blush as he reached behind, trying to make a grab at the giggling child. “Hey, idiot, I told you not to say shit like that! Get back here!”

Ed hopped nimbly out of reach, prancing around the room and dodging the pair easily as they tried to nab her. Ein hopped off Spike’s lap and raced after Ed, yipping at the excitement. Spike staggered to his feet, making another desperate grab as Ed ducked under his arms. He stumbled, crashing into Faye as he turned. They both toppled to the floor. His arm instinctively wrapped around her waist and he twisted, attempting to cushion the fall as he practically landed on top of her. 

Faye blushed as she stared into his heaving chest, suddenly and violently aware of his arm beneath her and his hand by her cheek, barely supporting both their bodies. She heard him curse, his torso shaking with effort.

“Flirty Faye, sleepy Spike! Flirty Faye, sleepy Spike!” 

“What’s all this, then?” Jet called, poking his head curiously into the room.

“Nothing!” shouted the pair on the floor, glaring up at Ed; she hovered over them gleefully.

“Annoying Edward, Jumbooooo Jet, Flirty Faye and sleeeepy Spike!” Ed sang louder, twirling in place and falling in a giggling heap just out of reach.

Jet grunted. “Well, when you lovebirds are finished there, food’s ready. _And why am I ‘jumbo Jet_ ’?”

“Oh, shut up!” Spike yelled, lowering Faye to the floor. He was beet-red as he sat up, groaning and gripping his side. “Damn it, Ed, you little shit,” he hissed.

Faye glared up at him, hoping she wasn’t as red as he looked. “Um, Spike?”

“Hmm?” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck absently.

“Get the fuck off of me.”

Spike frowned, glancing downward. His eyes widened suddenly as he realized he was straddling her. With a yelp, he scrambled away, slamming into the coffee table in his panic. Faye struggled to her feet, crossing her arms with a huff and another glare. Spike stared up at her with bewilderment, completely silent and still very much red. Faye narrowed her eyes and turned away.

“Don’t worry, Spike,” she said, stomping towards the kitchen and waving a hand irritably behind her. “ _Flirty Faye_ wants nothing to do with your sorry ass.”

She barely caught herself stumbling as she entered the hall. Her stomach was doing somersaults at her own words.

… Why did that feel like a lie?

She shook her head and continued to the galley, swearing under her breath.

  
  


…………………………………………….

  
  
  


Spike stared numbly after her, heart caught in his throat.

_What the hell was that??_

He gripped his side, pain still shooting through the wound in his abdomen. It was _finally_ beginning to scar over, but the damn thing still hurt if you, say, tumbled on top of another person or jammed it roughly into the corner of a coffee table. With a moan, Spike eased himself slowly backwards to lay sprawled on the floor. He rubbed his face wearily; why was he so hot all of a sudden?

Spike felt his own forehead; thankfully, it seemed the fever was not making a hasty comeback. Nevertheless, his cheeks still burned with something… Something suspicious.

Spike buried his palms in his eyes, cursing his own pain bitterly. He heard the soft patter of feet and lowered his hands to find Ed staring down at him, a broad grin plastered on her face. 

“Is Spike okay?” she whispered, cocking her head playfully to one side.

Spike glared up at her. “Spike hasn’t decided yet,” he grumbled, lifting himself unsteadily onto a sitting position. 

She hugged him from behind, still giggling.

“Sleepy Spike and flirty Faye are in loooooove,” she crooned, bumping her head against his with glee.

Spike gripped the small wrists around his neck and struggled hastily to his feet; with a slightly labored grunt, he flipped Ed neatly onto the couch.

She whooped, all flailing limbs and delighted shrieks. Spike shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his sweatpants, scowling. “Idiot,” he grumbled, limping slowly after Faye, Ein yipping at his ankles.

The giggling eased; Spike suddenly felt a small arm wrap around him, supporting his weight only marginally. He looked down at Ed, frown still prominent on his features.

“Edward was only joking,” she said, still smiling. “I was just trying to make Spike smile again, after being so honest and grumpy.”

He grunted, placing an unsteady hand on her shoulder and begrudgingly accepting her help as they walked. “Whatever.”

“I'm glad that Spike is feeling better.”

“Mmm.”

“Ed has had a fever before; fevers are no fun for Edwards or Spike-persons.”

“Mmm.”

“Spike-person?”

“Mmm?”

“I think Faye-Faye was lying, lying, lyiiiiing!”

Spike stopped abruptly, gripping the wall testily. “Ed?”

“Mmm?”

He ruffled her hair and pushed her roughly away. “Please never speak again.”

“Okay! Then I shall siiiiing!”

She cackled as she sped away down the hall, warbling as loudly as her lungs would allow. Spike frowned down at Ein, who sat panting at his feet.

“What’re _you_ looking at?” he mumbled, shoving his hand in his pocket again and continuing to stumble towards food. Ein wagged his small corgi butt and chased after Ed. Spike sighed, rolling his eyes.

He thought about the people waiting for him in the kitchen. Stupid Jet. Stupid kid. Stupid dog.

Faye.

His cheeks grew a little warmer.

_Damn it, face. Stop that._

It was probably nothing. Just a weird moment as they tried to find something resembling normal again.

It was probably nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *rubs hands together gleefully* 
> 
> Oh yeah, Spike. It's Probably nOtHiNg.
> 
> I'm such a sap for these motherfuckers. Damn.
> 
> I also really need to chill with these updates, huh? Like damn, self, chill.
> 
> Thanks for reading; lemme know what you think :D
> 
> Edit: I don't have any fucking idea how the ship works. It's a hallway, not a staircase to the kitchen. I'm a fool. I'll fix this later.


	17. Smoke and Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spike and Faye share a smoke. It gets poetic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's midnight when I'm posting this but I don't care, I cannot wait to share it. It's just... sometimes you just gotta. You just GOTTA.
> 
> Also I finally got around to watching the movie (couldn't find it anywhere for a while) and I'm??? I made a lil' reference to the conversation he had with Elektra when they were in bastard jail, and I might watch through it again and dabble in some dialogue references, but it won't be anything like, super important contextually. Just a heads up I fucking loved it and I want to watch it again already, it's so fucking good.

The air was lighter after that. Faye and Spike resumed their near-constant bickering, and Jet rolled his eyes as he tried to concentrate on work or his trees or literally anything else. Ed sang and danced, working Ein into an excited frenzy and barreling into anyone in sight. It was so similar to old times, it was easy to imagine that nothing had ever changed.

But it had.

It had and his dreams continued to remind him.

Spike slept better these days, but only marginally so. Still too weak to hunt bounties, he roamed the halls of the Bebop, brooding and smoking and thinking. Or trying not to think.

He wasn’t sure anymore.

Ed followed him occasionally, but boredom or hunger soon drove her away to fish or wander where he could not. Ein was a more constant companion, but even he left the ship to breathe and explore.

Spike stayed and walked the halls, brooding and smoking and trying not to think.

It used to be so easy, not thinking. He’d simply smoke and sleep, sparing an hour or so when forced into a game with Jet or to hit up the nearest bar. Now, he was stuck, waiting for his legs to stop aching and his lungs to provide him enough air for more than ten minutes.

So Spike wandered the halls of the Bebop, trying not to think.

The only solace he found from his own mind was when running drills on the bridge. He’d wait until the ship was dark and still, and he’d shuffle away from his room, seeking out only the stars for his company. He’d train, kicking and punching to rebuild the muscles that had deteriorated in his sleep. And he fell. A _lot_. He was able to catch himself occasionally, wheezing and crumpled against a railing; most of the time, however, he just fell. It was humiliating, but he was always the only one awake, so it didn’t matter. He’d just stagger upright again and push forward until he was too tired or too winded to move. And then he’d sit, smoking and brooding and staring out at the stars, his only company.

Spike’s mind always seemed to drift to the same topic: fear. He mused about the concept, how powerful something so indifferent to existence could be. When he’d met Julia, it was the first time in his life he’d ever feared death. Now, alive against his own accord, with the Bebop warm and frighteningly full of people looking after him, he’d had time where he was afraid of being alive.

His fever had been a crossroad of sorts, it seemed. A crossroad between fearing death and fearing life.

Spike mused at where he stood as he stared at the stars.

\----

A puff of smoke. His lungs burned from exertion and his throat from the cigarette. His head felt lighter, calmer as he breathed.

Tangible things, cigarettes. They’re simple and easy to understand. They ground you and lift you up simultaneously; they make you feel like you’re floating without drifting too far from the floor.

Something to burn. Something to breathe. Something to live for, to live through.

To live beyond the lifespan of the cigarette between his teeth, now _that_ was an extraordinary thought. And what for? To burn through another until he himself burned out in a pile of ash?

Spike lit another cigarette, breathing deep its toxic fumes.

He was thinking again, and it was annoying.

So he stared out at the stars, living and breathing and trying not to think.

\----

Spike found himself wandering to the hangar to stare at the sleek white machine that had kept him alive for over a month. It was cold, and hummed softly, even without him inside.

He glared at this shitty piece of miracle machinery that had replaced his fucking ship on the crew’s priority list.

They’d made a pass at the syndicate headquarters once to try and find it; Faye and Jet had returned to the ship after a day of searching, cross and apologetic to inform him that it wasn’t where he’d left it.

Spike had asked Ed to try and find the damn thing, though he doubted much would come of it besides some backwater scrapyard and a thoroughly dismantled cockpit. She’d searched through countless impound logs, humming and groaning when she came up empty. Nevertheless, he’d seen her plenty of times since, tap-tap-tapping away and glaring irritably through her goggles as searched.

Spike had taken to kicking the pod occasionally, if just to remind himself that he couldn’t break it. It no longer served as an escape from consciousness or relief from pain. It just… existed.

He could relate.

\----

Spike sat on the floor of the bridge one night, smoking and staring and breathing hard after training. Faye had managed to land a hefty bounty, and they’d been treated to a feast that night for dinner. Spike had eaten with them as usual, but he hadn’t been really paying attention to the banter as it passed around the table. He’d noticed Faye glance at him a couple of times, but he’d kept his eyes blankly on his food, munching and blinking and quiet. With a yawn and a shrug he'd been able to slip away after dinner, waving away Ed’s good night song.

He leaned heavily against the warm machinery, inhaling long and slow and relishing the smoke filling his lungs. The kid never ceased to amaze him in her persistence to acknowledge his existence. It felt nice, he guessed. He couldn’t remember what it meant exactly to feel _nice_ , but he assumed that this was close.

He thought the nicotine running through his veins must feel nice. But it was a different nice; it was a temporary, heavy calm, and he craved it irritably when it was gone. 

The attention from the crew was a lingering nice, dwelling long after they’d gone to bed or he’d left them behind to wander. It felt nice, even when he didn’t want it to.

He heard shuffling footsteps approaching from the stairwell. Spike sighed, breathing another lungful of smoke as the steps hesitated at the top of the stairs.

“Mind if I join you?”

He shrugged, glancing hazily at a far-away comet. “Seems you already have.”

More shuffling footsteps, and Faye sat heavily by his side. She plucked the cigarette from his teeth and took a deep drag, passing it back absently. They sat in silence, breathing in the stillness and studying the stars. Spike tapped another cigarette from his packet and held it out. Faye accepted it, as well as the lighter he shuffled from his pocket. She lit up with a sigh.

“Are you… do you wanna talk?”

Spike shrugged again. “No.”

“Do you _need_ to?”

“Do _you_?” he countered, watching the smoke curl upwards as he exhaled.

Faye fell silent. He glanced sideways at her, tilting his head slightly as he waited. She pulled her robe tighter around her shoulders, brow furrowed and eyes in her lap. Her hair was disheveled and there was a solemnity in her expression. She shrugged, but remained quiet.

Spike returned to the stars, watched satellites blinking and constellations roaming with consistency he’d never be able to achieve.

“... Can I ask you something?”

“Seems you already have.”

Faye snorted; Spike could almost hear her eyes rolling. For a few more minutes she remained silent, the only sounds on the deck their mingling inhales and exhales and the dull hum of the Bebop.

“What do you see when you dream?”

Spike blinked.

“Bold of you to assume I dream.”

“Oh, don’t get smart with me, Spike,” Faye huffed, glaring sideways at him. 

He continued to gaze ahead towards the stars, arms leaning heavily on his knees.

“... I always figured you were… I don’t know, invincible maybe.”

Spike snorted mirthlessly. “Invincible? You’ve seen me beaten to a pulp enough to know that _that’s_ not true.”

“I meant to things like dreams, idiot. Fine, _immune_ , then. Or… I don’t know. Untouchable.”

He let his head fall back slowly, closing his eyes. He breathed deep, wishing the smoke still gave him the dizzy feeling like when he first started the habit. “No one’s untouchable,” he murmured, pulling his cigarette away with a sigh. “Some just succeed in running far enough ahead that it feels that way.”

She bumped his shoulder lightly. “So you admit to having a physical form?”

“I never said that.”

Faye chuckled softly. Spike pushed the last of his cigarette into the deck and lit another. All was still again and they sat quietly, listening to the creaking of the Bebop around them. 

“ _Did you figure it out?_ ”

Faye started at his voice. “What?”

“I hear that question, when I dream. _Did you figure it out?_ ” Spike shook his head. “For a while it was annoying; I couldn’t remember what ‘it’ was, so I didn’t know if I had. But I eventually did.”

“Did what?” she breathed hesitantly.

“I remembered.” 

“And?”

He made no reply. Faye bumped his shoulder lightly again. “Come on Spike, don’t leave me hanging---”

_“Did you figure out if you were alive?_ ”

Faye froze beside him. Spike opened his eyes, peering resolutely up at the ceiling. “What could that mean, I wonder?”

“Hmm.”

The peace had been tainted, but Spike didn’t care. After all, she was the one who had asked.

He didn’t know why he brought it up now; he’d remembered her question in a feverish nightmare several days before, but he’d kept the memory to himself, hoping to let it wither and die in the back of his mind. The moment could have passed and they could have remained in uncomfortable but manageable silence.

But he’d said it, and there was no going back. Now, he waited. Smoke drifted drowsily around their heads, headless of the tension that had settled below. 

“... Do you know what I think, Spike?”

“Hmm?” He turned his head slightly to look at her.

Faye shifted to rest on her knees, staring him straight in the face. “I think you are.”

“Are what?”

“Tangible.”

He snorted, rolling his eyes. “Maybe I just haven’t run far enough.”

“But you did. I know because I’ve felt your heartbeat fade more times than I’d like to recall.”

Spike held her gaze, watching her brows narrow further and her lips tremble. “Dreams can have heartbeats,” he murmured.

Faye shifted forward slightly on her knees. “You can’t hold a dream.”

Faye wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face in his hair. She didn’t cry, she didn’t shake, she just held him.

He made no effort to move away.

“It’s okay; you’re not the only one who has nightmares,” she whispered, her voice muffled in his curls.

He took a deep drag around her arms, inhaling and holding the smoke in his lungs. When Faye pulled away, a hand ghosting his cheek, he blew the smoke in her face. She squinted her eyes shut and slapped him.

“Damn you, Spike,” she coughed, rubbing her watering eyes.

“Maybe don’t hug people without asking,” Spike mumbled, rubbing his smarting cheek with a grimace. After a moment, he nudged her lightly with his shoulder. “Pretty girls like you shouldn’t have nightmares. It doesn’t fit.”

She glared at him. “Don’t think giving me a weak compliment like that will make me forgive you so easily,” she hissed, but her cheeks were already reddening.

He shrugged with a sigh. “Whatever.”

The stars continued to drift by in spite of them.

“... I’m sorry. You just… you looked like you needed a hug.”

Spike huffed. “Are you sure it wasn’t the other way around?”

Faye bristled beside him. With a groan, Spike an apologetic hand. “Aah… fuck. I… Look, I just haven’t been hugged in a while.”

“Ed hugs you all the time.”

“She’s a stupid kid, though.”

Faye chuckled. “Woah, glad to know the great Spike Spiegel doesn’t think I’m stupid.”

“I never said that.”

“Oh, shut up.”

The tension eased all on its own. Spike felt his eyes drooping, and he groaned inwardly. _There’d been an awful lot of talking in his alone time tonight. Too much thinking. He dreamed too much after thinking._

“What do _you_ see when you dream?”

The question fell from his lips before he could stop it. 

Faye took a deep breath. Slow and thoughtful. “... The past, mostly. I remember my friends, and how they’re all gone. I… remember the accident that almost ended my life. The facility that saved me. All white and bleak and how everything was stolen from me in a moment. It only takes a moment for your world to shatter.”

She moved to rest her head on his shoulder.

He made no effort to move away.

“Do you still see the past, Spike? I mean… with your eye?”

His fingers hovered before his face. “Stupid thing’s busted,” he breathed. “But yeah, sometimes… in my dreams.”

“Does it hurt?”

Spike didn’t respond. He didn’t know the answer.

“... I wasn’t lying when I said I missed you,” Faye mumbled.

“Mmm.”

“What, that’s it? No witty rebuttal?”

“Hmm? Did you say something?”

She elbowed him playfully. “Lunkhead.”

Spike rolled his shoulders, gently nudging her away. He rose with a grunt, crushing the last of his cigarette into the railing. “Alright, this conversation has led from nowhere to nowhere. I’m going to bed.” 

Faye stood as well, sighing. “Unbelievable. And I thought we were making progress with your incessant closed-offed-ness.”

“That’s not a word.”

“Whatever.”

Spike tried to take a step and stumbled, barely catching himself on the railing. He was more tired than he’d realized. Faye’s hand was at his elbow in an instant.

“I’m not going to bother asking, since you’re insisting on being an idiot,” she whispered, pulling his arm over her shoulder before he could protest. “Now let’s get you to bed, you weak dope.”

He grumbled under his breath as she led him down the stairs and back to his room.

But he made no effort to move away from this damn woman who just kept pushing back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY. HEY. DO YOU. IS ANYONE ELSE. IS ANYONE ELSE DYING RIGHT NOW??
> 
> LIKE I KNOW I WROTE IT BUT DAMN THIS PAIR OF FOOLS JUST LIKE. THEY. THEY'RE SO CUTE.
> 
> Oh, also I feel it necessary to add: don't fucking smoke, kids. I wrote this real romantic like but smoking's nasty bad for you and you really shouldn't. I've never smoked a day in my life, and I genuinely have no idea how it feels (had to look it up for this one, since I was getting so damn specific). I hope it sounds accurate, but at the same time don't fucking smoke. Don't. Stop it.
> 
> Take care of yourself, and thanks for reading :D


	18. We Close Our Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A stumbling return to bounty hunting, a solemn conversation, and a Nasty hangover.
> 
> The chapter ends happily enough.
> 
> "We close our eyes and the world has turned around again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Heavy drinking and vomiting in this chapter. Yee be warned.
> 
> This chapter is so fucking long, lads; my apologies but like *shrug emoji* whatcha gonna do, right?
> 
> Also the chapter title is definitely We Close Our Eyes by Oingo Boingo (tho personally I'm thinking of the NSP cover when I read this chapter, so if you want to know my feels, listen to that one while you read)

Spike was getting stronger, but he was growing restless. His quips and snappy rebuttals returned, but he couldn’t find it in himself to smile.

It just… it didn’t feel right.

His crewmates tried a great deal of things to coax it out of him. Faye teased, trying to get a rise out of him; Ed would get in his face or roll along walkways, blowing raspberries or singing to Ein. To his credit, Jet tried his best to avoid being so obvious, but Spike saw through his casual jokes and random stories. Spike would always respond in kind, poking back at Faye, dodging Ed, and groaning at Jet. But he never smiled.

It just didn’t feel right.

He’d lost so much, and still had so much to figure out. 

\----

His first bounty hunt back was an… experience. He insisted on going alone; the terrified looks in Jet and Faye’s faces made him stubborn enough to borrow Faye’s ship without asking. He could have walked, technically; they were docked in the harbor and the target was an easy spot, but he was bored. Faye tried calling him multiple times, no doubt to give him a solid verbal thrashing, but Spike simply canceled the call and hummed to himself.

It was a small fry bounty, some hacker who’d hit the wrong business in some busy corner of Ganymede. Spike nevertheless relished the freedom, the independence of finally _doing_ something again.

Something other than thinking and talking and wandering in place.

The guy was pathetically easy to find; he bragged about his hit at the bar, he bragged on the sidewalk outside, he bragged all the way down a side street as Spike followed a few yards behind. When the mark stepped into an alley to light a cigarette, Spike made his move. He knew he was still slow, but the hacker was nervous and reckless as he fought back.

He blamed it on his eye for not seeing it coming; a lucky elbow to the gut nearly ended the fight for him. Spike was able to flip the hilt of his gun and whirl on the guy, smashing his face and knocking him out cold. However, he immediately collapsed, gasping against the grimy alley wall and trying desperately not to pass out.

_Two months… two months should be enough time to heal a near-fatal sword wound, right?_

Spike crouched next to his unconscious target, clutching his abdomen and trying not to retch. In the back of his mind, he considered calling for backup, but his pride had already taken a hit today; he didn’t need another.

Slowly, he was able to steady his breathing and blink the stars from his eyes. He staggered to his feet, tired and sore and frustrated. He seemed to be that a lot these days.

_Two months… One of which was spent entirely in the dark._

He’d bounced back from worse injuries, he thought; he must have. He didn’t remember the pain lingering so long, or feeling it live so firmly in the shallows of his subconscious.

Spike sighed, cuffing the target and nudging him roughly awake. The man started sobbing and pleading as Spike walked him at gunpoint towards the police station. The bounty hunter ignored his pleas, merely grateful the sucker hadn’t been awake for his moment of weakness.

He dropped off the hacker and collected the bounty, ignoring the double-take one of the officers gave him. He shuffled out of the precinct in silence, limping down the steps with his hands deep in his pockets. It’d been a long time since he’d been to a bar; now seemed as good a time as any to stretch his legs. His chest still ached a bit, but not enough to return to the Bebop.

Not yet.

Spike needed to stretch his legs.

  
He sidled idly through the busy sidewalk, absently taking in faces and blissfully forgetting them in seconds. It was early evening; the sun warmed his face but did little to soothe his aching chest. He edged around a game of hopscotch, returning the small wave he received from one of the playing children. It was warm, and busy, and calm.

He felt a little better. A little lighter.

But not enough to smile.

\---- 

  
  


The pub was trash, even by his standards. The air hung thick with smoke and murmurs, suspicious patrons all pretending to keep their business to themselves while gossiping and eavesdropping to their heart’s content. Spike swirled the last of his fourth bourbon absently before downing it with a grimace. He nodded to the bartender, who approached him hesitantly. They looked to be in their mid fifties, slight shoulders and dark hair, with a thoughtful air of an observer and a listener.

Spike hated those types of bartenders; they always seemed to want to interrogate him.

“Might wanna slow down there,” they said as they poured him another portion. “Only been a couple hours since you been here; keep this up and your hangover won’t be pretty.”

Spike shrugged. He couldn’t particularly feel his face, but his chest was warm and his fingers tingled pleasantly. “Maybe that’s the idea,” he mumbled, holding the glass up to his eyes to stare at the swirling liquid.

The bartender ran a hand over their loosely braided curls. “You don’t look like the type that’s here for that,” they said, raising an eyebrow curiously. “Got a name?”

Spike glared blearily over his glass. “Probably.”

The bartender chuckled. “Well, ‘probably,’ I hate to kill your little party but I’ve seen that look before and I’m cutting you off after this one. Dunno what they did to make your eyes so sad, but I’ll wager a safe guess they’re startin’ to worry right about now. Might be best if you head out in a few.”

Spike took a thoughtful sip. “And who might ‘they’ be?”

“Whatever lover you got causing you this much heartburn.”

Spike sputtered, coughing to try and clear his burning lungs. The bartender chuckled, dark eyes twinkling gently. “Bullseye, then.”

Spike glared up at them, wiping his mouth. “Missed the mark entirely,” he muttered, taking another sip to soothe his throat. The cheap bourbon was disgusting, but it numbed his irritation.

The bartender leaned towards him, frowning. “Is that right?”

“Yeah; can’t have heartburn for someone who’s dead.”

They started, staring at his dull eyes in surprise. With a sigh, they shook their head, awkwardly picking up a glass to wipe it down. “I’m sorry.”

Spike shrugged, vaguely attempting to decipher whether or not there were one or two glasses in his hand. 

“... I disagree, though. Heartburn for the dead can be even more painful than for the living.”

“Heartburn’s heartburn; you just gotta sleep it off and it’ll fade eventually.”

The bartender shook their head, mystified. “That’s not even close to being how it works.”

Spike shrugged again. “It's worked fine for me.”

“Your eyes speak truer than your words.”

“I’d recommend against trusting my eyes; they’ve never done me any favors.”

The bartender pulled the unfinished glass gently from his hand. “Go home, kid,” they murmured. “This one’s on the house; whatever you’re trying to bury isn’t going to stay in the ground just because of a little whiskey.”

Spike rubbed his eyes wearily. “What if _I’m_ the one being buried?” he mumbled.

A quiet laugh. “Truly, only the living are stupid enough to try and bury themselves. Now go home, or I’ll have to kick you out.”

He slid off the stool, gripping the edge of the bar as his legs made a valiant effort to trade places without his say-so. “You’re not a very nice bartender,” he grunted, shuffling a box of cigarettes from his pocket and offering one.

They waved it away. “Tryin’ to quit. And for the record, I’m _very_ nice. Hope you find your way out of this hole you’re in.”

Spike waved absently over his shoulder as he limped away, barely catching himself from walking face-first into the wall. It was much darker on the street than he’d expected when he finally managed to find the door and slip through. Spike shuffled down the nearly empty sidewalk, lighting a cigarette and shoving his hands deep in his pockets. The smoke added to the airy feeling in his brain.

It was something to breathe. Something to burn.

He walked for an eternity, passing by floating street signs and empty cars, letting his feet drift in the general direction of something or other. The docks, maybe. Faye’s ship. Somewhere, something, who knew and who cared. Spike certainly didn’t. He lost his cigarette somewhere along the way, but he didn’t mind. He also didn’t have the attention span to pull another from his pocket. He just continued to walk, peering into space and blissfully thinking nothing at all.

The timelessness of his walk felt nice.

Not nice enough.

It felt like days before he realized his legs starting to turn to lead. Well, his left leg. Or maybe it was just heavy from the cheap booze draining into it.

Spike looked down, staring at a wide, blurry grin.

“I found you!” Ed giggled, hugging his leg tightly. 

He glared down at her, blinking hazily. “You been following me, idiot?” he grumbled, wiggling his leg in an attempt to dislodge her and almost collapsing on the spot.

“Nope! Ed was fishing but got bored, so she went to play and got a little lost. But the Spike-person is here, so we can be lost togetherrrrr!”

Spike exhaled wearily. “Well, lucky for us both I _mostly_ remember how to get back. Get off my leg, it’s hard enough to walk as it is.”

Ed scrambled upright and linked her arm through his. “Is Spike hurt?”

He attempted to roll his eyes, the act making the world spin. He tried to close his eyes against the whirling, but that only made the world spin faster. His stomach attempted to backflip up his throat. “Spike is tired and wants to go to bed.”

Ed giggled again. She began to hum, bobbing her head and bumping him occasionally. Spike stumbled as his vision began to swim, the bourbon doing its dirty work in his veins and in his brain. He pulled his hand out of his pocket to steady himself on Ed’s shoulder. She wrapped her arm around him, tilting her head to look up. “Did the bar make Spike feel any better?” Ed asked as they walked slowly onward.

Spike squinted down at her, trying to focus on the glowing golden-brown eyes. “Not particularly,” he replied. The words felt thick leaving his mouth.

“At least Spike is honest.”

He grunted, struggling slightly to remain upright as they approached the docks. Lights from the moon and the city reflected delicately off the water, flickering slightly with every ripple. The Bebop floated in the distance, a beacon in the blanket of black waves and shimmering lights. Ed adjusted her grip slightly.

“When will the Spike-person smile again?”

“... When there’s something worth smiling about.”  
  


He staggered as Ed stopped beside him. Her other arm wrapped around his waist and she hugged him tightly, her face buried in his side. He wobbled in surprise.

“Ed---”

“You’ll find it soon,” Ed whispered, her voice muffled in his suit. “The thing worth smiling about. Edward believes it.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he raised a wobbling hand and, after three attempts, found her hair and gave her a small pat. “You’re a weird kid,” he mumbled.

Ed released him, grinning broadly. “I told you, Edward will smile enough for the both of us until Spike is ready.”

He rolled his shoulders wearily and stumbled onward. Ed hummed, skipping slightly ahead and whirling to hop around him.

They were just a few yards from the Bebop when his left leg gave out and he sat heavily on the metal walkway with a grunt. Ed slid to a stop, leaning towards him and cocking her head. “Does Spike plan on sleeping outside tonight?”

“I’d prefer not to,” he mumbled, waving her away and rubbing his ass with a wince. The world continued to rotate as he tried to focus on her face. “Ed, can you… ah, fuck it. Go get Jet or... go get Jet, alright?”

“Right sir, right sir, off to get Jumbooooo Jet!” she cackled, twirling away towards the lightly bobbing Bebop.

Spike groaned, staring sluggishly after her. Gradually, he lowered himself to lie on the boardwalk and blinked up at the stars. Constellations spun in his dimming vision; his brain seemed to be doing an impressive amount of cartwheels for not having arms or legs. He thought he spotted the Little Dipper, blinking lazily back at him.

“You done stargazing?”

He dimly registered Jet standing over him, arms crossed and brow furrowed. Spike lifted a wobbling arm silently.

“This isn’t about to become a habit, is it?” Jet grunted, ignoring the proffered hand. “I’m not your mother, I’m not gonna drag your drunk ass back to the Bebop every time a bar calls your name.”

Spike’s arm drifted back to the ground. He hummed, tapping his fingers absently against the metal boardwalk. Jet sighed, reaching down and gripping Spike roughly by his jacket to pull him upright. Spike staggered; Jet had to hold his shoulders to keep him from keeling over again. “Bastard,” Jet grumbled, pulling Spike’s arm over his shoulder and starting to walk him back to the Bebop.

Spike did his best to contribute, but he was tired, and his side still hurt, and he felt like he was walking through oil, sluggish and thick and slower than time itself. He managed to make it to the stairs of the living room before his legs gave up again. Jet grunted, supporting Spike’s entire weight with a few choice swears before dumping him roughly onto the couch.

“Damn it, Spike, how much did you _have_?” Jet groaned, rolling his shoulders irritably.

“Not much,” Spike hummed, trying to keep his eyes open as he felt the couch trying to eat him alive.

He heard Jet shuffle forward and sit wearily on the edge of the coffee table. “When are you gonna wake up, Spike?”

Spike shrugged listlessly. “Hopefully in eighteen hours. Probably seven with a splitting headache and some nausea.”

“Spike---”

Spike glanced haphazardly to the side. “Cigarette for a tired man?”

Jet snorted, making his way wearily back up the stairs. “Cuppa coffee for a moron hurtling towards a hangover, more like. If you can stay awake long enough for me to get you one. Turn on your side, I don’t want you drowning on your own drool.”

Spike grumbled, folding his hands over his chest and breathing a heavy sigh. He let his eyes flutter closed and he instantly regretted it. The couch should have been comfortable but it was too soft, too warm, too much and the darkness behind his eyes was spinning and---

He rolled over suddenly, heaving his night’s escapism unceremoniously across the coffee table. He scrambled to catch himself and only managed to tumble to the floor, landing painfully on his freshly injured side. Spike rested his head wearily on the floor. He thanked whatever powers existed that such a thing had been created as the cool metal that soothed his cheek. Time was slipping through his fingers and he lay, content to remain tangled and heavy on the floor of the living room.

He thought he felt a hand on his forehead, an arm lifting and supporting his shoulders. Someone pressed a glass to his lips and water trickled down his throat; he had the vaguest memory of knowing how to swallow, so he did.

“You idiot,” a soft voice admonished in his ear. A gentle hand rested on his forehead.

And then he was gone, asleep and drifting and hoping that maybe, just maybe, tonight would be a dreamless one.

But dreams care not for the whims of man, especially one who has gotten himself absolutely shitfaced.

…………………………………………….

When he awoke, he was completely blind.

Every cell in Spike’s body felt like it had ruptured in the night, and were now haphazardly reformed and currently hammering nails into his forehead. He was thirsty, so _fucking_ thirsty, but the thought of consuming _anything_ made his stomach churn. His mouth felt tacky, completely devoid of moisture and anything to remind him he’d ever felt joy in his life.

He was laying on his side; the arm of the couch dug vaguely into his neck. Someone had removed his jacket while he was unconscious, and he felt a blanket resting loosely over his shoulder.

_Ugh. Why couldn’t I just wake up in a puddle of my own sick like a regular person?_

Spike moaned, pulling a hand sluggishly to his face and rubbing his eyes.

“Is the Spike-person awake?”

Spike jumped, banging his head on the back of the couch as he scrambled away from the sudden voice by his ear. He rolled onto his stomach, burying his face in the couch to try and subdue the ringing pain threatening to send him under again. 

“Faye-Faaaaaye! The Spike-person is awake, awake and unhappyyyyyy!”

_“Already?? Hold on, Ed, make sure he stays awake; the coffee’s just about done.”_

Spike reached out a shaking hand, struggling blindly to swat at Ed as she laughed in his ear.

“If I must die, let me die in silence,” he growled.

He felt a small poke to the back of his head. “Do not worryyyy, Edward is here to make sure Spike-person does not throw up on himself again! Spike will live to hurl another day!”

Spike tugged the blanket roughly over his head, turning his face to the side again; the darkness brought little comfort to the pounding behind his eyes or the desert that was his throat. Ed poked him again through the light fabric.

“Edward has been told to keep the Spike-person up, for his naughty-naughty tipsy crimes! Wake uuuuuuup, Spiiiiiike; wake uuuuuuup!”

He ignored her, squinting against the throbbing that was his own heartbeat in his ears. The blanket was yanked unceremoniously from his shoulders, and he was blinded once more.

“Alright, alright,” he mumbled, yawning and throwing his arm over his eyes. “Fucking just stobbit already, I’m up.”

Ed cackled and patted his exposed forehead lightly. He grumbled but didn’t have the energy to push her away.

“... Ed?”

“Hmm?” she trilled.

“... Do you dream?”

“Edward dreams aaaaallll the time.”

“... What about?”

“Candyyyyyy and computers and Ein and SPACE!” she sang, jostling to sit against him on the couch. 

Spike grunted as his space was encroached upon. “Sounds nice,” he groaned.

“Dreams make Edward happy, happy, happy.”

Spike sighed, subconsciously trying to detangle his esophagus. He felt Ed slowly pry his arm from over his eyes.

“Was the Spike-person trying to dream last night?”

“Trying _not_ to,” he murmured, keeping his eyes closed against the unforgiving light. His memory was foggy at best, but he knew the night hadn’t been a very restful one.

All he got from his efforts was a gloomy conversation with a bartender, a hangover, and the residual tension of night time horrors that he couldn’t quite remember.

Just his luck.

Spike felt Ed pry one of his eyelids open, but the world remained completely dark. His right eye. 

“Spikey, Spikey, soooo unhappy; one day, may he dream of pigs with wings and other happy things!”

He cracked his left eye open slowly. Ed peered over his arm, smirking. Spike groaned, twitching her away. “Go ask Faye what’s taking the coffee so long.”

Ed giggled and nodded, clambering off the couch. 

_Faye..._

“ _…_ Wait.” 

She turned at the sound of his voice, head tilted quizzically. In a moment of inspiration, Spike’s eye twinkled. “One more thing, Ed…”

\----

Jet stepped nimbly to the side, barely avoiding colliding with Ed as she barreled past with a whoop. He chuckled, making his way down the stairs. Spike lay sprawled on the couch, shirt half untucked and expression a tight grimace. Jet set a glass down on the edge of the coffee table and sat with a deep sigh. “Hope I made it right,” he said, gesturing to the prairie oyster in the glass.

Spike dropped both legs to the floor, holding his head groggily in one hand. He nodded gratefully at Jet, before pinching his nose and downing the revolting concoction in one gulp. He winced, shuddering slightly. “Could've used more hot sauce,” he muttered, but his eye was regaining its focus.

Jet shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re _welcome_.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“You actually get your bounty, or you get bored twenty minutes into looking?”

Spike rummaged through his pockets, pulling out his card and waving it absently. “It was a quick catch; what can I say, I had time to spare.”

“Mmm.”

They sat in silence, Spike cringing as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“... Hey, Jet.”

“Hmm?”

“I never… answered your question, did I? Not really. About what I see.”

Jet grunted. He knew exactly what Spike was talking about, but he refused to lead this conversation. If Spike wanted to talk, _finally_ , he was going to do _all_ the talking.

And he’d better make it good this time.

Spike held out a hand to stare blearily at his palm. “I used to see… a lot. And nothing at all. The past, the present; they blurred constantly. The life I’d tried to leave behind, with this new existence. I couldn’t tell where reality began and the dream ended, or… if there was a reality to begin with.”

He paused, glancing sideways at Jet. The older bounty hunter remained silent. Spike pushed his palms into his eyes. “I feel like I remember dreaming, then. In that time. It was mostly static, nothing to remember, but it broke up the dream that was reality. And then, before I knew it, the dream was over. The dream died, and I killed the nightmare, and I was content knowing it was over. Or I… I thought I’d be content. It _was_ over, and then it… wasn’t. And I’m here, now.” 

He sighed, dropping his hands from his face. “To tell you the truth, Jet, I don’t know _what_ I see. I still feel like I’m waking up, and I don’t know what I’ll see when I do.”

The quiet following his words was stifling. Spike stared into the middle distance, his hair its usual disaster self and his eyes incredibly weary for a man so young. Jet watched him, his soul feeling heavier than it had in a long time. Slowly, Spike let his eyes fall to the floor.

“... For whatever reason, though, there’s a piece of me that… wants to try,” he murmured quietly. “I don’t know what it is. I don’t know if I’ll ever know. But there’s something pulling me forward, and I... want to follow it. I want to try. I want to try and wake up. I want to follow this feeling.”

He lifted his head to meet Jet’s eyes. “Is this what it’s like to be alive?”

Jet stared back, momentarily at a loss for words. After a moment, he shrugged. “I suppose it is, Spike. I suppose it is.”

Spike narrowed his eyes. “Well, it sucks.”

Before Jet could laugh at his reply, a shriek rang out down the hall.

_“EDWARD, YOU LITTLE SHIT, GET BACK HERE!”_

“BUT THE SPIKE-PERSON GAVE EDWARD PERMISSION!”

Spike and Jet looked up in unison as Ed hurtled into the living room, Faye following closely behind. The child leapt deftly out of her reach, scrambling to hide behind the couch. Faye stormed forward and planted herself, fuming, in front of Spike. He hurriedly leaned away against the couch; Jet thought he saw something flash in his eye.

“SPIKE SPIEGEL, SHE’S A _CHILD_ , YOU CAN’T JUST TELL HER SHE CAN SAY THINGS LIKE THAT!”

Jet put a hesitant hand out, not eager to get in the way of the raging woman. “Now, Faye, I’m sure whatever she said can’t be all that bad---”

“Spike-person gave Edward permission to say ‘fuck’!”

Jet sputtered as Faye continued to yell into Spike’s face. Ed wrapped her arms around Spike’s neck, chanting happily and matching Faye’s outraged tirade in volume and energy.

“SPIKE, I CAN’T _BELIEVE_ YOU, OF ALL THE IRRESPONSIBLE---”

“LET EDWARD SAY FUCK! LET EDWARD SAY FUCK!”

“EDWARD, STOP SAYING THAT; WE’RE ALLOWED TO SAY IT BECAUSE WE’RE ADULTS YOU HAVE TO _EARN_ THE RIGHT TO USE THAT LANGUAGE---”

_“LET EDWARD SAY FUCK! LET EDWARD SAY FUCK!”_

There it was. Jet saw it, clear as day, as Faye turned away and continued to shout up a storm and Edward tried to drown her out with her newly permitted vocabulary. There, in his lazy stare and calm breathing; Jet saw it grow slowly and sit comfortably on his friend’s face.

Spike smiled. He smiled as he patted the side of Ed’s head. He smiled as he gazed listlessly at Faye when she whirled on him again and grabbed his shirt, shaking him roughly. He smiled a little wider when he pulled the key to Faye’s fighter from his pocket and dangled it under her nose. And he smiled as he glanced at Jet when he decided to step in and try to ease the situation. 

_Finally,_ Jet thought as he stood between Faye and her source of fury, letting out his own hearty laugh.

_I think you’ll do it, Spike. I think you’ll wake up sooner than you think._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "When everybody is running in the big race /And having a good time/ Who am I to cast a shadow/ Who am I?/ I looked Death in the face last night/ I saw him in a mirror/ And he simply smiled/ He told me not to worry/ He told me just to take my time."
> 
> This section of this song has never spoken more truly to what I feel is Spike's current journey in this story. Again, I feel like this was a weirdly long chapter, but I just really liked how the moments played together and I didn't feel like any group of sections could be partitioned off into their own thing. Hope you liked, and hoped you got a kick out of that ending bc DAMN I sure as hell did :D
> 
> Many thanks to Nebulous_Bounds_of_Bad_Taste and EliorWrites (both on AO3) for helping me with the drunk and hangover bits; I am what you would call a not drinker (don't care enough for the effects, care even less for the tastes), so they were a huge help in getting this to a place that felt accurate AND poetic. (EliorWrites wanted me to add that he's working on stuff for Star Trek and the Witcher for anyone in those fandoms that's interested; nothing done yet but it's in progress! Also Nebulous_Bounds_of_Bad_Taste would like to apologize for the multiple unfinished YOI fics but like, whatcha gonna do :D)
> 
> Just a heads up, it might be a bit longer for the next chapter; I've been Outlining and Scheming and Thinking and there's a couple things I've been thinking of doing, but the bigger this story gets the more lines get crossed and I really want to take my time to do this right. Thanks (as always) for reading, and let me know what you think! Comments feed my weary writer soul ;D
> 
> p.s. you better believe I'm about to start writing a shitton of chapters that have song lyircs as inspiration because I've been listening to some covers recently and the Spike/Faye energy in them is... OOF.


	19. Daylight and Night Silences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faye wanted to stay mad at him so fucking bad, the asshole.
> 
> She just couldn’t find it in herself; not when he continued to be so alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't/ won't apologize for this chapter. You'll see why in a bit.

Faye wanted to stay mad at him. She wanted to stay mad at the bastard _so badly_ , with his sleepy grin and messy hair and soft brown eye that seemed like it was peering into her soul as he gazed at her.

Faye wanted to stay mad at him so _fucking_ bad, the asshole.

She just couldn’t find it in herself; not when he continued to be so alive.

Spike ended up leading her to the Red Tail that afternoon, offering no comment as she berated him the entire journey. She _was_ still angry about him taking her ship, but the worry lines he’d held for so long had relaxed slightly from his face, so she decided only to scold him about the ship. Instead, she chose to seek her revenge by leaving him to return to the Bebop by himself. Faye tried not to look back as she climbed wordlessly into her ship and it whirred to life; as she rose in the air, however, she couldn’t help but glance his way.

She didn’t know what she was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t the thoughtful gaze she received as Spike stood watching her leave, hands deep in his pockets as he ignored the buffeting winds ripping at his clothes.

Her stomach fluttered as she flew back to the Bebop. It must have been the quick ascent in altitude, or whatever garbage leftovers she ate that morning, or something else arbitrary. 

She wouldn’t let that fool of a man get a rise out of her.

She wouldn’t.

\----

He got easier to talk to in the daylight. More open.

Sort of.

Their arguing hadn’t eased up, but it felt lighter somehow, like he’d actually been trying to pick a fight before and now just enjoyed the banter. Occasionally, Ed would make some mischief and they’d have an excuse to team up on her, but just as they’d reach a moment of genuine comaraderie, Faye… hesitated, and pulled away. Spike would frown but never said a word. He’d merely shrug and shove his hands in his pockets, humming as he walked away.

She couldn’t decipher why she felt so sad as she watched him leave. _He was alive and choosing to move forward; shouldn’t that be enough?_

He was different. So was she. And she accepted that. So she forced herself to move on, trying not to think about it too hard.

They shuffled around each other, moving about their days separately and together on the ship they called home. It was strange how strange it felt, having him up and about again. She'd spent so much time waiting for him to wake up, sleeping or watching nearby to keep an eye on his heartbeat. But now… now his heartbeat was far away, too far for her to reassure herself. It was there, but it wasn't hers to hold.

And that bothered her, but she couldn't decipher why.

Even as he felt further away than before the incident at the syndicate, he seemed at the same time to be getting… closer, somehow. Closer in strange ways. They'd pass each other in the corridor, or stand on the deck for a cigarette as Jet gave them instructions for a bounty, and he'd always just… appear, in the corner of her eye. Faye did her best to give him space, to keep the air light and firmly between them, but she grew frustrated at how he always seemed to brush close to her in doorways, how he seemed to be just at her shoulder during briefings. She took the single armchair in the living room during mealtimes, if just to make sure he didn't sit _next_ to her, god forbid. Every time, however, he’d take the corner of the couch and stretch luxuriously, always managing to bump her foot with the toe of his shoe.

It was infuriating.

One morning, after feeling him brush just a little too close again in the cramped galley space, Faye snapped.

“What’s your problem, Spike?” she hissed, whirling on him.

He leaned against the fridge, folding his arms with a bemused smirk. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, fuck off with that shit. You know what I mean. You keep… bumping into me all the time.”

He snorted, tilting his head slightly. “It’s a small ship.”  
  


“Not _that_ small. What is it, are you following me or something, Spiegel?”

“You _avoiding_ me, Valentine?”

She sputtered, glaring at him as he pushed away from the fridge to stretch. The edge of his t-shirt lifted up slightly, revealing the barest sliver of skin.

“Relax,” he mumbled, scratching his chin thoughtfully. “If it bothers you so much, I’ll keep my distance.”

She watched him shuffle out of the kitchen, absolutely bewildered why her tongue and her stomach seemed to be tying themselves in unruly knots.

\----

Everything felt a little different at night. Calmer, more relaxed, which was ironic considering _why_ they were both awake.

They continued to stumble into each other in the silences of the night. Or rather, Faye stumbled into him. Whenever the dreams got to be too much, or her bed no longer provided soothing comfort to her anxious mind, she’d rise and pad softly to the kitchen for coffee, or simply wander the Bebop. The murmurs of the ship helped anchor her to the present.

Faye found their encounters awkward at first; he always seemed to be where she wanted to go. She left him alone the second time, bearing her own thoughts and worries to some other corner of the ship. She understood all too well the importance of just being… absent for a while. Not quite alone; merely absent. She thought about her life, her past, her future on the Bebop. She thought about broken memories, broken promises, and releasing the past.

And she thought about him, sprawled lazily on the couch, stoic and thoughtful and alone.

Faye asked to join him again the next time she found herself wandering the halls. He merely shrugged, and she sat. She asked him no questions, made no dry remarks; she only wished to sit and not be alone. This went on for some time; Faye found herself wandering the Bebop in the restless darkness until she found him, before deciding whether or not she wanted to stay. It only mattered that she found him at all. And she did, sleepless night upon sleepless night. He’d be sitting with his back against a wall or a railing, staring into space and simply breathing in the stillness. Sometimes they’d talk about dreams and whispers and stars. Sometimes they’d just sit in silence, before he’d eventually yawn and wobble upright and she’d help him off to bed.

He never sought her out, but he never turned her away, either.

\----

One night, she awoke to her pillow soaked in tears and her breath catching in her throat. It wasn’t a new nightmare; everything about the white walls, the empty rooms, the hospital abandoned and every last vestige of humanity having vanished, was familiar by now. She’d certainly dreamed about it enough. Something about this night, however, thinking about herself wandering endlessly, alone, without consolation or reward, made it impossible to ignore and drift back to sleep. 

Faye stumbled groggily to the bathroom and spent most of her time there choking on tears. When she was finally able to breathe freely again, she shuffled back towards her room, not even considering looking for the only other person who could possibly be awake at this hour. She didn’t want him to see her like this.

Unfortunately for her, the stars had not aligned for that to be an option.

He sat against the wall in the rotating hall, arms resting on his knees and a nearly-depleted cigarette in his mouth. He glanced lazily at her from beneath his tousled hair as she approached.

“You look like shit,” he said quietly, taking the cigarette and flicking it towards her.

Faye plucked it from the air as it floated past and took a deep pull, inwardly groaning. “How long have you been out here?”

He shrugged. “Long enough. You must be really out of it; didn’t even see me when you walked by the first time.”

Faye sighed. “Please, Spike, I… I don’t need this tonight. Just forget you ever saw me.”

Spike pushed himself upright, groaning softly. The damn sliver of skin made a reappearance as he stretched his back. “Figured I was still dreaming, anyway,” he mumbled with a yawn.

He blinked blearily at her as they stood in unsteady silence. With his plain shirt and wrinkled sweatpants, she could almost imagine he was just some guy, soft and half asleep but willing to listen if she wanted to talk.

But she didn't, and he wasn't.

At least, she assumed he wasn’t.

“Listen,” he began, rubbing the back of his neck wearily. “I’m not good at this, but… if… if you… fuck. Alright, look, don’t expect me to do this again, but since neither of us can sleep, anyway, if… if you _want_ the company… dreams are easier to handle when you’re not alone.”

Faye stared at him, stunned. When she realized he was studying her intently, she lowered her eyes and crossed her arms with a huff. “I’m not in the mood to be made fun of, so knock it off.”

“I’m not kidding, Faye.”

She heard him step towards her, and she flinched, fully prepared to tear him a new one, when he stopped just as abruptly. Faye glanced upwards and was surprised to see his arm outstretched, left eye heavy with uncertainty. His fingers curled slowly into a fist and he dropped his arm again to his side. 

“I know you asked for space,” Spike sighed, rubbing his neck again, “but… I’m here right now, and if I seem to recall correctly, you were there when I didn’t have the awareness to thank you, so… uh... if you---”

Before she knew what she was doing, Faye abandoned the cigarette to the low gravity air, buried her face in his chest, and wrapped her arms around his sides. He staggered in surprise. After a moment’s hesitation, she felt his arms settle on her back. For the first time in months, Faye felt… relief. 

She couldn't cry; she’d already spent all her tears for that night. All she could do was breathe and try not to think about how close Spike was and how comforted she felt by his presence.

“Could you… stay with me tonight?”

The words were past Faye’s lips before she could even process what they meant. Spike chuckled softly, his chest reverberating against her cheek through his shirt. She pulled away, flushing. “Don’t fucking start with me, Spiegel,” she growled, poking him in the chest. “I’m not suggesting _anything_ and you know it, don’t---”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t freak out, Valentine,” he said, taking her hand lightly. “I already offered my company, you don’t need to make it weird.”

He ran his other hand through his hair. “Your room or mine?”

Faye pulled her hand awkwardly from his grasp. “I… uh… mine,” she managed to mumble, turning away and hoping her entire body wasn’t actually on fire. “I dunno what kind of pigsty yours is.”

Spike grunted but made no response. He followed her silently to her room, sliding the door closed behind them after they’d shuffled inside. Faye stared in dismay at her futon, suddenly wondering why it looked so much smaller than she remembered it being. Spike’s chest brushed against her shoulder and it took everything in her power not to shriek. She couldn’t, however, hide her second flinch in so many minutes. She felt him step away again, and something in her heart fell.

Faye shifted uncomfortably. “Just… just face away or something,” she mumbled as she crawled onto the mattress and under the covers, firmly pressing herself against the wall. After a moment’s thought, she added, “don’t turn the lights off all the way. I… I’d rather not be in the dark tonight. Dreams are worse in the dark.”

There was some shuffling, and the lights dimmed, stopping at just below a soft glow. She heard Spike lay down behind her, sensed him several inches away with his back towards her. He’d kept himself above the sheets.

They lay in silence, breathing softly and each presumably thinking their own thoughts. Faye twiddled her thumbs anxiously, her nightmares resurfacing now that she had a moment to dwell in the stillness. She sighed, wearily rubbing her eyes. Spike shifted behind her, exhaling his own deep sigh. The sound was reassuring; it reminded her that he was real, that she wasn’t alone for the moment.

“... Hey, Spike?”

“Mmm?” His voice was soft and sleepy.

Faye turned over to stare at his shoulders.

“Are we friends, Spike?”

A long, stiff pause. He shifted again, slowly rolling over to face her. His left eye seemed to sparkle even in the low light.

“I haven’t had friends in a long time,” he murmured. “I’m not sure I remember what it feels like.”

Faye snorted. “Please, spare the poetry, Spiegel---”

“I’m serious.”

He closed his eyes, his expression unreadable. “What do you remember of your friends? From… back then. If you don’t mind me asking.”

Faye blinked. It took her a few moments to collect her thoughts. “We… We talked a lot, about things that felt like they’d make or break the world in the moment. They were usually just grades, or boys, or hobbies, but it was… wonderful. We all spent hours together, laughing and talking and just… existing together.” Faye chuckled slightly to herself. “My favorite thing we did was have sleepovers; just hours, spent awake giggling about absolutely nothing.”

Spike snorted, cracking his eyes open slightly. “Sleepovers? Wazzat?”

“You know, sleepovers. When you go to someone else’s house and spend the night. You get pizza and snacks and watch a movie and, you know… hang out.”

He eyed her curiously, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Spending the night at someone else’s, huh… so would this be a sleepover?”

Faye felt the flush return to her face. “Um… well… I guess you could say that, yeah.”

Spike smiled, his left eye twinkling. “Then I _guess_ you could say that… yeah. Yeah, I think we’re friends, Faye.”

Their faces were so close she could feel his breath on her cheek. She shut her eyes firmly, ignoring the confused butterflies erupting in her stomach. “Well, that’s… good, then.”

His chuckle sent her heart tumbling. “Yeah… good.”

Silence fell again between the pair. When she heard his breathing deepen, Faye cracked her eyes open a centimeter, risking a glance at her bedmate. His face was still, lips parted slightly as he breathed. The dim light cast a faint shadow on his face, settling in the dark circles that rested below his eyes. His hands lay in front of his chest, open and twitching occasionally as he dreamed. A stray eyelash had settled on his cheek, and Faye brushed it away absently. He looked so peaceful, so gentle in the warm light. 

Gradually, however, his brow began to furrow. His left eye twitched sharply, and soft murmurs began to fall unintelligibly from his lips. He was too quiet, mind too deep in slumber to be coherent, but she could hear the tremble in his voice and the whispers of troubled and urgent pleas she could never imagine him uttering in the daylight.

“Spike?” she murmured, taking one of his hands gently.

Spike flinched at the touch, forehead furrowing deeper as his breathing quickened. He tilted his face towards his chest, arms beginning to shake as his tired mumblings became louder and more pained.

“Spike, wake up, it’s okay,” Faye said, clutching his hand tighter and reaching out to touch his face.

Spike’s eyes opened suddenly and an arm shot out, supporting him as he shuddered awake. Faye continued to hold his hand, uncertain of whether it was to comfort him or herself. “Spike?”

He blinked rapidly, breathing heavy as the last remnants of sleep evaporated from his eyes. For whatever reason, Spike stared at her, worry lines fading as he searched her face. His eyes slowly fell on Faye’s hand, tightly gripping his fingers. She pulled away hurriedly, avoiding his eyes. “I… I’m sorry, you just… you looked so…”

Spike’s hand encapsulated her own, and she started, looking back at him. His expression was… something she didn’t recognize, or couldn’t quite contain in one word. He looked exhausted, apprehensive, tense, relieved. Emotions boiling under the surface began to fade as he held her gaze. He took a deep breath and sighed wearily. “Don’t worry about it,” he mumbled, letting his head fall back and tucking his arm under his pillow. “Just… just another dream. I’m fine.”

Faye snorted, and he squinted at her, confused. “Sure, Spike,” she whispered. “You keep telling yourself that.”

Spike grunted. “I thought I was here to help _you_ ,” he muttered. “I can go if you---”

“At your own peril,” Faye said, laughing softly. 

After a moment’s hesitation, she shuffled forward slightly, pressing her forehead to his as she closed her eyes. “Dreams are easier to handle when you’re not alone,” she murmured. “We’re both staying right here.”

Faye expected him to pull away, to grunt or swear or make a sly remark. But he remained still, his nose brushing lightly against her own. She kept her eyes shut, for fear of opening them and having to ever look at him again. Whatever this moment was, it was new and strange and she didn’t want to risk breaking the stillness. Instead, she focused on his hand over hers, barely registering his thumb brushing her knuckles as she drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey. If you're not Absolutely Feral after reading this, I have no idea what to do for you because I WROTE it and I had to take multiple breaks while editing because I just... is it too bold of me to say that this fic is an absolute gift? A National Treasure, if you will?
> 
> I really struggled with the chapter title so forgive me if it's kinda lame; idk man I just absolutely lost my shit once I figured out what this chapter needed to be and I really hope I delivered.
> 
> I would genuinely love to hear your impressions of this one. ESPECIALLY this one. Lads. Fam. It took everything in me not to just fucking throw this out into the ether last night without editing. Thanks for reading, and if you can, get all your friends into Bebop so we can all suffer together :D
> 
> P.S. I won't be able to apologize for next chapter, either. ehehehehe


	20. Drifting Ships

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Did you actually get some sleep this time?"
> 
> "Yeah... yeah, I think I did."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I refuse to apologize for this chapter. 
> 
> You're welcome.

_There’s something to be said for waking up from a peaceful sleep after countless nights of restlessness. It’s like your body’s finally been given a moment to breathe, a moment to exist in the clouds and drift, still and unburdened. Your heart is light, so much lighter than it’s felt in what must be centuries; there’s still the weight, you’ll always carry that weight, but it’s lighter now. It’s lighter, and it feels like it’ll be easier to bear from this point forward._

_The world has stopped in an instant, and you rest, in that blissful moment. You’re warm, and you’re able to breathe because the fog in your lungs has finally lifted. You’re warm, but not unbearably so. In fact, it’s a delicate balance of cool winds on your face and shifting waves of heat that caress your skin. The aching behind your eyes fades, and you’re left with calm, gentle emptiness._

_And then you feel arms pull you closer---_

Spike’s eyes flickered open, his brain taking its time to readjust to wakefulness. Something tickled against his skin, teased its way through his hair. He felt pressure, a presence, firm and comforting, pressing against his forehead. Her nose brushed against his cheek---

And Spike was awake, suddenly and violently aware of everything, all at once. Faye’s arms were wrapped around his neck; his own were tangled around her waist, resting under her shoulder, supporting her as they curled against each other. His arm was asleep and it tingled, but for the life of him he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

She sighed, and shivers rippled down his spine. He stared blankly into her sleeping face, felt her breath warm against his cheek. All was still, in this precious, delicate moment.

Spike prided himself on going where the world chose to take him, letting everything flow as it might and just doing his best to enjoy the ride. Easy come, easy go and all that. But here, and now, the world was silent, and all he could see, all he had was this woman, this damn pushy woman, holding him with her heart beating close to his chest.

He made no effort to move away.

Their first meeting flashed through his mind. She’d been good looking, sure, for a cheating dealer and a cranky con artist. She’d been abrasive, frustrated and confused at why he couldn’t read her mind. It’d been a misunderstanding, sure, but the woman rubbed him the wrong way nevertheless. Or maybe it was just a tease, a flirting dance they both knew and refused to back down from. No feelings other than animosity and the promise of a challenge.

She beat him twice in a day. Once he let her, but the second time… she managed to actually outsmart him.

Funny.

He remembered smiling at the thought.

They’d had to save her from an empty tank and an empty stomach, and then she’d… stayed. Arguably, she’d _forced_ her way onto the ship, took their food and spent her share of bounties on the horses, but she’d stayed, long after Spike had figured she’d get bored of them and leave.

Why had she stayed?

Why did _he_ stay, now?

Faye shifted in her sleep, her face pushing abruptly closer to his. Their lips hovered, inches apart, breath mingling in the silence. Spike smiled, bemused at his own thoughts.

He’d loved before. That love had burned, and torn, and pieced him back together again. He’d found it in Julia, the will to fear death. He’d found a path, a purpose: the task to discover what it was to be alive.

And love had burned him like ice and interrupted dreams. He’d reached, taken that chance to find his life, and she’d stayed behind. To protect him, to protect herself maybe; either way, it didn’t matter. He didn’t hate her for it, he could never hate her. That didn’t stop him from growing colder.

He was a ship. He was born to wander, exploring the skies and finding new ways to cheat death, to search for his life. He’d always figured Julia a lighthouse, blinking in the proverbial and literal darkness, a beacon just out of reach that he was willing to chase after.

Spike was a ship, with no anchor and empty sails, content to drift.

Content, and alone.

His lighthouse had faded, destroyed by that storm that constantly chased after them both. She’d tried to anchor, she’d tried to join him in his drifting, in the end, but the lighthouse had crumbled and then… she was gone. They’d tried, for a moment, to live. But a lighthouse is nothing to the claws of a storm or the will of death. The storm itself had died as well, and he was left to drift, to stare at his own empty sails and wonder what had happened to make the world so gray.

The woman currently at his side mumbled something, eyes still closed and fingers still curling through his hair.

Faye was… just another ship in the darkness. They passed by each other, in their own time, on their own terms. They might drift, side by side for a time, but that’s all they were. Drifting in the never-ending blackness of space.

Yet, in this moment, holding her and being held, all Spike could think of was… an anchor. Not binding, not a chain to trap him in a cycle of murder and battles he never ended up remembering fully. That anchor was cold, and it burned and tore and beat the life and substance out of him. He couldn’t be anchored anywhere like that ever again; he was born to drift.

This anchor was… a peace offering. A day spent on an island he’d never return to, basking in the sun and sleeping his fears away. The tide, gentle and constant, the push and pull of thousands of miles of unknown water. And her ship, anchored side-by-side, exploring and swearing and causing a ruckus nearby. 

… Always nearby.

Just near enough to touch, to see, to hold. Just close enough to listen, to speak, to bicker and smoke and live the days away.

He breathed in her heartbeat, uncertain of these thoughts, this feeling.

Faye was beautiful, sure. But beauty was temporary. Beauty burned. Beauty turned sour, or sad, or wrapped him around its finger and loved him until it was too late to live. 

She’d soured towards him. She’d looked at him with such sad, lonely, angry eyes, but those eyes had pleaded with him as well, to stay and live beyond a dream. She’d burned, but the burn was wrapping him in her arms and releasing him from a nightmare.

She’d taught him to breathe again. Spike hadn’t even realized he’d forgotten how until her hands were on his face and her words were all he could comprehend under the dimming lights.

He felt his own mirthless, silent laugh shake his chest.

_Even this is a dream. It has to be._

There was no escape from his nightmares. He’d live, most certainly, but they’d follow him forever, taunting him and threatening him with a past he fought to gaze past in the silence. 

And Faye was just another ship, drifting in the wind. An ally, a friend; someone he could drift with for a time. She had her way, and he had his. And he liked that.

He liked that about her. He hardly dared to say he liked _her_ ; he liked very few things and none he would ever name aloud. Nevertheless, it was a comfort to know she was drifting, and that if he glanced upwards he might see her in the distance. Even if she never looked back. Even if she ended up a lighthouse to someone else’s ship, or found comfort in the anchor of some other soul… it was nice to know that for now, she drifted nearby.

His arm around her waist was warm. Her chest, her fingers in his curls, every inch of her making contact was warm, and soothing, and…

_This has to be a dream._

He held her close, running his hand gently through her hair.

Whatever this was, he figured it was that… thing he had a hard time finding, or naming.

… Nice.   
  


It was a nice dream.

She groaned and Spike closed his eyes, letting his arms fall still again.

_I wonder…_

He felt her stretching sleepily against his chest, heard her gasp as she struggled slowly awake and realized their position. He lay limply, keeping his face expressionless and his eyes purposefully, securely closed. He felt her slowly pulling her arms away, slowly pushing herself upright.

Drifting, drifting away.

And then… she settled again. Her cheek rested against his arm once more, and a hand rested tentatively on his chest.

Spike wondered if she could feel his heart trying to break through his own ribs.

He breathed a contented sigh, still feigning unconsciousness. He heard her laugh softly, shaking her head against his arm. He sensed her edging nearer; her nose brushed against his, tender and gentle and slow.

And then… Spike felt her plant a kiss on his forehead.

She’d… had she done that before?

He felt like he remembered it, in a dream, long ago. A fevered, painful, torture-filled dream that stormed in his mind, interrupted briefly by a humble break in the clouds. A kiss on his forehead, full of peace and worry and life.

_This feeling…_

It didn’t burn. It didn’t rage. It didn’t melt his skin to ice and dust.

It just flickered, slow and steady. It was small, and timid, and strange.

But it was warm.

Spike surged forward, eyes still closed as he held Faye tighter and buried his forehead in her shoulder. He felt her stutter against his chest, her arms pinned above their heads. He nuzzled her neck and she swore, smacking the back of his head and wriggling in his grasp.

“Spike, getthefuck offame! Wake up, you idiot!”

He yawned and stretched, barely suppressing a grin as he pulled away and blinked groggily at her. Faye’s eyes were emerald orbs of fire and rage, but her cheeks were soft and grew pinker by the second.

“Wazzamatter, Valentine?” He murmured, keeping his smile sleepy and unassuming.

Faye glared at him, all sweetness and quiet morning stillness gone as she pried his arm from around her waist. “You were suffocating me, you asshole,” she hissed. 

Spike shrugged, rolling lazily onto his back. He noted vaguely how her cheek still seemed to be resting on his arm. “S’your fault for hogging the covers,” he murmured, letting the smile linger as she fumed by his side.

“... Did you actually get some sleep this time?”

He turned his head towards her; Faye stared at him, curled under her blankets with her hands over her heart, studying him with those priceless eyes.

“Yeah… yeah, I think I did.”

He didn’t like many things, and even the few he did he dared not name.

The feeling flickered, slow and steady and warm in the center of his heart.

Whatever this was… it was a nice dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit holy shit holy shit holy shit holy shit holy shit holy shit holy shit holy--- ey it's my 20th chapter! Neat!
> 
> Anyway thanks for reading I wrote this and edited it in the span of like five hours today and I need to do something else with my life.
> 
> *bangs fists on table* this boat metaphor came to me in a Vision; it may be simple, it may be cheesy, but DAMN it I'm proud of it and I hope you liked it because FUCK.
> 
> FUCKING SHIT. THESE TWO.


	21. Kiss from a Rose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There used to be a greying tower alone on the sea/ You became the light on the dark side of me/ Love remained a drug that's the high and not the pill/ But did you know that when it snows/ My eyes become large and the light that you shine can be seen?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Highly recommend listening to the Dan Avidan and Guitar Bros acoustic cover of Kiss From A Rose by Seal. That's... that's as close as I could think of to the feeling for this one.
> 
> Edited: 9/3 just a couple little words and phrases here and there as I procrastinate other chapters ;)

Spike was able to slip away from her room that morning, undisturbed and mercifully unfound by Jet or Ed or even Ein. The day was moderately tense, to put it lightly; she jumped at the sound of his voice and stuttered angrily when called out on her surprise. Spike laughed with Jet at her, but inwardly he made note of her discomfort and adjusted his movements accordingly, making sure she could see him before she heard him.

He tried to give her space. He really did. In the daytime, he was aware of the distance, purposefully conscious of the air between them. Any tension in Faye’s shoulders and he would slip away, either just to move a little further off or leave the room entirely. When she started to realize what he was doing, she’d flash him a look, her eyes full of gratitude and a tinge of sadness. He’d merely blink lazily at her and shrug, but butterflies had taken nest in his stomach and they fluttered slightly when she looked him in the eyes.

He started to notice things about her, little things that he felt like he’d seen before but stood out vibrantly now, in the light of day. He noticed the way she’d tuck her hair absently behind her ear, how she’d nurse a cup of coffee, one finger tapping restlessly on the mug. He watched her nose crinkle when she criticized Jet’s cooking, how filled with fire and light her eyes became if anyone did anything to piss her off. She bounced her leg absently when she sat reading in the living room, and he had to close his eyes and pretend to sleep to keep from staring at the constant, mesmerizing rhythm of her knee.

He watched and he wondered in the daylight, pondering why her lips seemed always to rise to his mind during his rare moments of solitude.

\----

  
  


It was every few nights that they’d ‘stumble’ upon each other, now more purposeful and familiar. They’d talk or sit quietly for a while and then she’d ask him if he wanted company. He’d shrug or nod silently, the feeling flickering in his heart blazing fractionally brighter. He never said yes aloud, but his heart always flew towards her, always softened as they lay, side by side, holding hands and breathing in each other’s company. Every several nights eventually became every other night. Every other night eventually became every night.

Their routine fluctuated and adapted with necessity. Once, Faye was out on a bounty hunt that required overnight surveillance. Spike didn’t sleep that night. He just wandered the halls, ran drills on the bridge, and then just waited in the hall, smoking and breathing and musing over her touch in his memory.

When she returned, he nodded absently at her and pretend he’d gotten any sleep, but then night came and he waited in the hall, silent and thoughtful until she appeared. Faye shook her head and offered him a hand, which Spike took with an eye roll despite the butterflies. They shuffled together to his room, and he had to fight the impulse to pull her immediately to his chest and pass out in the comfort of her warmth. Every night together always felt somewhat fragile, even if it was meant to be peaceful. 

And it _was_ peaceful, being together. Faye held his hand when he dozed and inevitably shuddered awake, exhausted and haunted by ghosts no matter what he did. She’d press a little closer, but it was never close enough, yet he just couldn’t quite bring himself to close the gap.

Spike saw her hesitation, and the knowledge prickled in his spine. It was already so much, just being with another person and not having to weather the night alone, but the more time they spent together in the darkness, the more times they spent waking up closer than when they started, the harder it was for Spike to watch her avoid his eyes. The peace he found waking up in her arms was intoxicating, and any moment of fear in the night was heightened because he knew he had to wait to be near her.

But he forced himself to wait, even if that meant desperately trying not to cling too hard to her fingers while he dozed. He forced himself to wait, because these were simple, fragile moments, and he refused to taint this peace they’d found. Every touch was delicate and purposeful, and he was aware when she kept her distance. If she didn’t want his touch, she didn’t want it. Simple as that.

Every night, they’d breathe in the stillness. Every night, the feeling in the center of his heart blazed a little brighter, and he stubbornly ignored it.

He was just anxious and tired. Nothing more.

One night, Spike kept his back to her, unable to trust himself not to reach out and hold her too soon. It always felt too soon, and simultaneously he knew it was never soon enough for his heart. After a couple hesitant nights, she’d finally invited him under the covers, and so they lay now, facing away from each other but still sharing their heat. Her back pressed lightly against his, and he tried to breathe, tried to sleep but he was ironically too tired, too fucking tired to do even that. Too tired and too focused on this feeling.

It felt an awful lot like heartburn, this feeling.

Eventually, he heard rustling as Faye rolled over to face him. She was inches away, and he could feel the tension in the silence as she stared at his back. He could sense that she was waiting, but he couldn’t bring himself to face her. All he wanted to do was hold her, but he kept his distance, if it meant that her peace of mind was retained. Suddenly, there was more rustling, and she was close, so close, curled neatly against his back. An arm slid around his side, and her hand settled gently on his stomach.

“Can I… is this okay?” she whispered. “I just… I just need to hold… something.”

The butterflies danced beneath her fingertips. 

“S’fine,” he mumbled, resting his hand over hers and breathing deeply. Spike wondered if the sound of his breathing brought her the same amount of comfort he felt from her touch. He sincerely doubted it, but he breathed deeply all the same, attempting to remind her without words that he was still there.

Faye buried her forehead in his back; after a moment, he realized she was shaking. Moisture began to seep through his shirt, and an animalistic part of him wanted to flip over and hold her so close their bodies would meld and he could feel her heartbeat in his veins. He wanted to bury her in his chest and run his hands through her hair, somehow ease the tears currently staining his shirt. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

He just… couldn’t.

If she wanted his arms around her, he figured she would have asked already.

So he stayed on his side, laced his fingers through hers, and closed his eyes against his own pounding heartbeat. Slowly the shaking subsided, her knees bumped against the back of his legs, and she was still, her nose pressing just below his shoulder blades. 

Spike awoke the next morning to find her hand had somehow curled under his shirt, fingers resting limply against his skin. She’d shifted in the night, and her hand was higher up his chest, tugging up his shirt, and her lips brushed the back of his neck.

He didn’t mind, and he couldn’t bring himself to move or care. All he could think to do was hum and hope the butterflies decided to chill the fuck out soon.

He’d pretended to sleep a little longer to keep from embarrassing her, but when she did begin to rouse, her hand remained on his chest, her breath warm against his neck. He felt her fall deadly still, arm tense around his side, and he waited patiently for her to pull away, but… she never did. The tension slowly bled away, yet her hand remained, gently pressed against his heart. Her nose brushed his neck as she shifted, rubbing her cheek gently against his shoulder.

It felt like an eternity before Faye pulled away and stretched herself awake, but it felt like even longer how slowly, tenderly her hand slipped out from under his shirt. 

The butterflies refused to settle. 

The feeling was blazing brightly, too bright now to pretend to ignore.

  
  


…………………………………………….

  
  


Faye felt angry, and confused, and painfully selfish. 

It wasn’t enough to have his company, his presence in the painful nights; no, she just _had_ to want to hold him, too. It didn’t help to know that nearly every morning, she awoke completely tangled against him, legs and arms and chests deliciously close, comfortable and warm and _what was she_ **_doing?_ **

A piece of her heart always grew cold and sad, thinking about the tension in his face and the trembling of his limbs as he slept. He always seemed to sleep a little sounder, breathed a little lighter whenever they were so close, but Faye pushed that thought aside, reasoning that it was just her imagination.

After all, there was no possible way he was holding _her_ in the stillness. Not really.

That woman would always hold his heart, even long after death. Faye told herself that, as if to comfort herself, but it only stung her eyes and made her heart ache. 

Julia had been a mysterious, exhilarating woman, the one time they’d met. Faye could understand why he loved her. They’d shared the same air of someone who was lost on purpose, and didn’t mind the constant wandering. Faye felt like she wandered as well, but he always seemed to be just a little further than she could manage. Just a ship, drifting in the distance.

She’d turned to face him one night, hoping to see his face sleeping beside her, but she was just met with his broad shoulders, his crumpled shirt and _damn it_ that sliver of skin again. She waited, hoping he’d turn around and give her a lazy, unwarranted smile that she could frown at and tease, but… he didn’t. He just continued to breathe and exist, just out of reach.

Finally, when she couldn’t take it any longer, she’d reached out, reached forward and held him, because he was so close and she just couldn’t take the space between them anymore. She’d asked for permission almost as an afterthought. 

“I just… I just need to hold… something.”

Not something.

_You._

Every inch of her screamed the truth.

_I just need to hold_ **_you_ ** _._

Faye had had to bite her lip at his mumbled approval, trying to ignore how much it hurt when he didn’t respond to her touch.

She’d begun to cry, frustrated with herself and this moment with him that she couldn’t help but cling to.

_I’m so selfish. I shouldn’t do this. I_ **_can’t_ ** _do this to him._

But Faye couldn’t help it. She couldn’t help but hold him as she cried. She tried to ignore the tumbling of her heart when he took her hand and laced their fingers together.

_He was just being kind,_ she reasoned.

She hated how fucking kind he was these days, in these moments. She missed the way he teased and berated her, angry or frustrated or bewildered, anything but this painful, agonizing _kindness._

It just made it harder to hold him, and harder still to let him go.

  
  


…………………………………………….

  
  


Spike stared up at the ceiling of his room, unable to sleep. He’d laid like this the past several nights, wide awake and listening to Faye’s gentle breathing. Every so often, she let out the softest, most obnoxiously delicate little snore, and he’d smirk, knowing she’d kill him on the spot if he ever told her of it. She lay on her side, facing him, and it took every ounce of his control not to stare at her until the stars faded into darkness and the universe blinked into oblivion. 

She murmured in her sleep, something quiet and secret, causing the butterflies to have an unapproved heyday in his chest. Spike curled one arm behind his head and closed his eyes resolutely, determined not to imagine her breathe against his skin or how comfortably she seemed to fit in his arms.

Gradually, her sleeping tone changed; her breathing grew sharp and sounded faintly distressed. Spike opened his eyes to look at her, and found her brows knit and her jaw clenched. He reached out a hand, tentatively holding her shoulder. She trembled under his touch.

“Faye,” he breathed, shaking her slightly. “Wake up.”

She continued to shiver, her head shaking back and forth as her mumbling grew more coherent.

“No… come... come back, ple... don't leave...”

Tears began pooling around her tightly closed eyes, rivulets of salty water coursing down her cheeks. Spike’s fingers ghosted her face. “Faye, it’s just a dream, wake up---”

Her eyes snapped open, and her arms shot out, shoving him roughly away.

The push might as well have been a gunshot. Faye blinked frantically, her eyes wild as she stared at him in terror. Spike didn’t move; he couldn’t. He just held her gaze and waited.

Beauty burned. Beauty turned sour and sad, and wrapped him around its finger.

Faye buried her face in her hands, choking on sobs as she curled feebly into a ball. Spike sat up slightly and turned away, unable to do anything but let her exist and collect herself in her own time. It burned like ice, to hear her like this, but she didn’t want him close.

So he kept his distance, even if it felt like a vice being tightened around his chest.

Gradually, the sobbing faded, and Spike heard her hiccup softly.

“I’m… Spike, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”

Her voice was painfully quiet and trembled still with the last remnants of her tears. Spike rubbed the back of his neck, the vice growing tighter he sighed. “S’fine,” he mumbled. “You okay?”

She was quiet, and his ears burned to hear her voice. Spike sighed again. “I… I can leave---”

“No.”

The answer was immediate, desperate, without hesitation. Spike glanced over his shoulder; she’d turned towards the wall, still curled in a ball and shaking slightly. In the daylight, she was strong, and reckless, and confident to a fault; here, all he could see was a terrified, grieving woman, with phantom worries he had no hope of knowing or calming.

But _god_ did he want to. What he wouldn’t give to be able to.

Faye took a deep breath. “Can… can you… shit, um… fuck. Spike... could you hold me?”

There was a ringing in his ears, something high pitched and sudden as she continued to whisper.

“I just… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… but… I just… I just need---”

Spike was already curling around her, trying not to breathe in her hair and fighting the impulse to wrap her in every available limb. His arm was hesitant, and he was still aware enough to keep his hand over the top of her flimsy tank top, his fingers just above her navel. His other arm slid under her neck. His heart was aching, pounding hard against his ribs, but his embrace was firm and steady, even as he felt her shoulders pressed, trembling, against his chest. 

“Shit happens, Faye,” he mumbled, ignoring the shiver that ran down her spine. “Just… try to go back to sleep. I’m here.”

Faye shuddered as he cradled her, her cheek still damp against his arm. Every so often, she’d breathe in sharply, trying to steady herself from crying again, and slowly even that faded. He could still feel the tension in her shoulders, and he tried to keep his chin from dipping too close to her neck. 

“Who… who are you holding? At this moment. I… I need to know.”

The question almost made Spike laugh, it was so abrupt. He managed to bite back a perplexed chuckle and instead raised an eyebrow, forcing himself to focus as he tried to decipher her words.

Who was he holding? What the fuck did that mean? Not fucking Jet or Ed, that was for sure; he and Jet were close but this was pretty _fucking_ close for that, and Ed was a worm of a human who he couldn’t imagine sitting so still in her entire life. Who the fuck else could he---

Oh.

_Oh._

_Golden hair and a wistful gaze._

**_Oh._ **

Spike was surprised to find it’d been several days since he’d last thought of her. He’d spent so much of his meager life, searching for her and finding her and losing her again, he’d never imagined a moment where she wasn’t at the forefront of his mind.

His head still pounded, heart still ached when he thought about her. Even now, he could feel it rising, a wave of heartache that threatened to pull him under. But… it was dulled. Not forgotten, never forgotten, but easing and almost forgivable in this darkness.

She’d been a fire, burning and lingering in the ashes of his heart.

Here and now, something else burned. And it was different, and alive, and painfully close to his chest. It was fire _and_ ice, powerful and fragile, tenacious and hesitant, cheating at blackjack and taking all the hot water and crying on his arm. 

Spike thought long and hard before he gave her a gentle squeeze, pressing his forehead into her hair.

“A friend,” he murmured. And it was the truth. No one else, and nothing less. Maybe… maybe even something more. Maybe not, if only he could ignore those damned butterflies.

She choked again; it could have been a laugh, it could have been another sob. Whatever it was, it was followed by her shoulders finally relaxing against his chest and a long, relieved sigh. 

The peace was no longer fragile, and Spike breathed deep the calm of holding her close. He felt her legs, slowly moving against his own, and he adjusted until they were properly, comfortably tangled. He withheld a chuckle, for fear of breaking the moment.

Except… he wasn’t actually afraid anymore. He was just calm, and tired, and warm.

But she was close, and the feeling in his heart blazed confidently now, and that was something new entirely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...... I had to walk away a couple times while writing this. I barely got it done today. 
> 
> But I needed to write it, if only so I could read it back myself.
> 
> Is it bad I almost made MYSELF cry?
> 
> I hope no phones or computers were injured in the reading of this fic, as I myself found it very difficult not to hurl my entire PC out the window of my second-story apartment window while writing it. Damn. Ooch. 
> 
> So how we feelin' after this one, huh? How we doin'? :D


	22. Jewel of the Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jet has a metaphorical hernia, and Spike hates surprises.
> 
> At least... he thinks he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you don't mind a bit of a longer chapter but this one covers some things I've really wanted to get to!
> 
> I really want to thank GarlicFlakes for bringing Session XX (or the lost Cowboy Bebop episode) to my attention! I watched it real quick as I was writing and I need to watch it again, bc it really does add a lot to their characters in terms of things that I DEFINITELY want to explore in this story. I may very well dedicate an entire chapter to reliving the 'lessons' they go over in the episode, so if you'd like to watch it here's the link:
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DwQqTpo83Nc
> 
> Edited: 9/3 fixin' things. don't mind me.
> 
> Thank you all so much for over 500 hits btw! I have no perspective on how many is a lot of hits but I think it's pretty neat to have so many reads at this point and it makes my heart happy :D Hope you like this chapter!!!
> 
> Edit: ALSO I FORGOT! I made a playlist for this fic! Because I'm a sap and every song started reminding me of this pair! Here you go!
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5VEFXpPaTRNMMwWljPrFr0?si=OGV2RxiDTTqt7o-7XO3IIg&fbclid=IwAR1UK97X3VvNyNzeE3EE2i13JOQYRUCJT64g1ygqRffjVQJtw87Uyr0wfBs

Jet was a man of many things. He was a man of principal, philosophy, realistic expectations and small trees.

He was not, however, a stupid man.

And he was getting too old for this shit.

Granted, at least ‘this’ was not getting shot at from around every corner or losing another limb for the time being. He preferred a calmer path these days, even if they were all still in the bounty hunting business.

But this... this was exhausting to watch.

Jet was no fool, but he certainly seemed to be surrounded by them. Two in particular who were giving him a headache.

He couldn’t decide whether or not to laugh at how casual they were attempting to be, because… well… they weren’t successful in the most _generous_ of opinions. Jet had eyes; he could see it, even if they _determinedly_ chose not to.

Jet had noticed it first with Faye, during the long, arduous month of Spike’s coma. It was slow, how her worried and angry glances turned to worried and soft, gentle and impatient and sad. They’d spent a lot of time waiting together, Jet and Faye, talking and reminiscing and sitting in the silence of uncertainty. And she’d changed. She’d always be tough and headstrong, Jet had little doubt of that, but the walls she’d built up and kept purposefully in place were shifting, weakening or… softening. Her high walls that protected her were crumbling, all in the direction of one leggy, lazy bounty hunter.

She’d had a whole month of falling, softening, changing and Jet had seen it all, quiet and thoughtful and curious to see what would happen when Spike woke up.

And when he did, much to Jet’s confusion… she seemed to step back. The stronger he got, the angrier and more confused she grew. She still took care of him, but the care was hindered and threatened, hesitant to explore that softness now that Spike was watching. She snapped and she sighed, and it took everything in Jet’s power not to waterboard himself, if only to escape the _tension_.

And there was tension on both sides, _oh_ was there tension, but not in the same way as Jet expected. Spike woke up slowly, and the more he woke up, the angrier he got as well. But his anger was different; it was internalized, dismissive, and isolated. It seemed like the man wanted nothing more than to melt into the Bebop and become just another metal board in the walls, if that’s what it took to escape existing in his own thoughts.

Jet had finally managed a decent conversation with him… well, more like a lecture. The older bounty hunter was furious and frustrated with how much Spike took for granted, and yet he could understand why he was so hesitant to trust again.

Jet had his own scars, his own past regrets with love. He’d tried to reason with Spike to let go of the past, let go and live beyond lost love.

Jet knew that pain, and he’d thought Spike too smart to die for fallen love.

He’d been wrong.

He’d been wrong and Spike had left and Jet had stood with Faye on the Bebop, fuming and grieving and desperately fighting the urge to chase him.

Faye’d given in and stolen the Hammerhead to save him. Jet, crippled by the bullet wounds to his leg and his ship, had watched her go, in his heart praying that it wasn't too late. She'd saved him, and Jet with a bitter gruffness had helped her get him back, to bring him home to the Bebop

And then they’d waited, and Jet had watched as Faye had softened, not exceedingly but enough, and then Spike had awoken, angry and tired and lonely.

Jet knew they’d had some form of conversation that didn’t end too well. Faye had stormed past him with a sharp reply and sharper step, refusing to give details. It was enough to know that she was livid and heartbroken, but Jet had hoped that _something_ might have stuck.

It had, in a way, if only to send Spike into a fever-spiral. Bastard just about scared the shit out of everyone, but it had given Jet time to finally understand what was going on. It _was_ in his head, some form of internal torture that he fervently clung to, whether because Spike felt like he deserved it or it was the only way he’d feel alive. 

Jet knew that feeling all too well. He had his own scars, his own past regrets in love.

So he’d given a lecture, and Spike had listened. Finally, he’d listened. He was still… distant. Thinking, learning, waking up. But he was trying now, at the very least.

And now that he was finally, _finally_ trying, he was also… changing. Shifting and moving in ways that reminded Jet fondly of his own first days getting to know Alisa. 

Jet watched as Spike started… hovering. Months before on the Bebop, he’d always lie around or keep to himself, only rising to take a bounty that sounded ‘interesting.’ Now, he chose to stand and move, constantly on some invisible, unconscious search to be nearer to… her. Jet watched them with mild bemusement as they seemed to dance around each other, Spike standing just a little closer in the galley than was appropriate or peering over her shoulder at every opportunity. Faye sputtered and snapped and shuffled away, and Spike would watch her with a misty expression on his face.

_Ugh._

Jet stubbornly refused to intrude, but the tension between them only grew more palpable, more delicate, more _painful and annoying and it was exhausting to watch._

Then one day, the air hung very differently. Spike backtracked in a big way; he kept his distance, expression tight and thoughtful, but Jet could see the faint disappointment in his eye when he moved from Faye’s side. It’d fade away in an instant, but the older bounty barely hid a groan every time Spike forced himself to shuffle away.

_Idiot’s got it bad._

Jet wouldn’t interfere. He refused.

Let them be difficult and not talk it out. It was none of his business.

It was none of his business, not when he noticed them rising every morning at nearly the same time, if a couple minutes apart. It was none of his business when, even as Spike stayed away, Faye seemed to soften again, always seemed to turn in his direction to keep him in sight. And it was _certainly_ none of his business when the strain between them seemingly faded overnight and Spike walked into the kitchen one morning with a vague smile on his face.

Jet didn’t care. He didn’t, and he wouldn’t, and he refused.

The bastards would have to figure this out on their own.

The tension when they teased was even more frustrating after that. Before, they’d banter from a distance, as they walked, as they sat, keeping to their own space. Now, however, Faye always seemed to be trying to get in his face, and he held his ground, occasionally leaning forward to close some of the gap. She’d sputter, and he’d smile, but his whole body was tensed, as if ready to spring. Ed would barrel between them, and the moment seemed to be broken, but Jet saw the twinkle that lingered in Spike’s eye as he watched her storm off, saw the way he gripped whatever was behind him as if his life depended on it.

_Poor bastard._

_I’m too old for this puppy shit. This is agony._

\----

The rhythm in the Bebop reached a bump in the road, barely two months after Spike’s fall. Jet started hearing rumors of the syndicate resurfacing, and he was nervous. It would never be the same, not after the deaths of so many top ranking agents, especially Vicious. However, factions were slowly beginning to reform, and there were reinvigorated whispers that Spike Spiegel had somehow survived the encounter. Whispers they'd been dreading hearing since his rescue.

Jet firmly insisted that Spike start laying low on the Bebop again, at least until the rumors died down. Faye agreed fervently, though Jet noted perhaps a little too eagerly. Spike grumbled a bit but eventually relented, shrugging and giving the excuse that the recent bounties hadn’t been much fun, anyway. The lanky bounty hunter shuffled off, brooding and lighting himself a cigarette to pass the time. Jet glanced at Faye, who was pointedly staring at the magazine in her hands, eyes glazed over. Ed sat on the floor with Ein, humming to herself and tapping away through databases on some mission to create havoc in the digital world.

Faye sighed abruptly, flipping her magazine shut and tossing it irritably onto the coffee table. “We’ve gotta do something.”

“What do you mean?” Jet asked, taking a calculated sip of his coffee and peering curiously over his mug.

“He’s _miserable_ , Jet,” Faye replied, shooting him a glare. “We’ve gotta… boost morale or something.”

The older bounty hunter snorted. “Never thought _you’d_ be calling for a morale boost. And what do you mean he’s miserable? He’s _always_ like that.”

“Oh, don’t play stupid, Jet. I mean like stir crazy. Would you _not_ be, having to spend all your time on this hunk of junk ship after not being able to move for a month?”

Jet grunted. “Hey, this hunk of junk’s captain doesn’t take too kindly to that kind of insult, and could _easily_ remove you from its crew if it tickled his fancy.”

Ed giggled from her place on the floor.

Faye sighed. “Look, it’s just… I think we’ve _all_ been a little on edge, and I just thought it might be interesting to think of something _fun_ we could all do, like… I don’t know, a game or a movie or---”

“Sleeeeepoverrr!”

The adults turned abruptly at Ed’s exclamation. The child took Ein in her arms and spun, giggling and singing. “Edward has never had a sleepover before, but she’s heard they’re fun, fun, fun!!!”

“A sleepover?” Jet echoed, perplexed. “But isn’t that like kids stuff---”

“Now what a minute.”

Jet glanced towards Faye. Her eyes were gleaming with something hopeful and excited, and the corners of her mouth slowly rose to form a smile. “Just wait a minute, Jet,” she breathed. “Ed might be onto something. Sleepovers _can_ be really fun. I… I used to have sleepovers all the time when I was a kid. We’d make a big pile of blankets and pillows and watch a movie and braid each others’ hair and---”

Something mischievous, borderline fiendish flashed across Faye’s face as a thought struck her. The smile widened. “Jet, I’ve got an idea.”

He listened, arms crossed as Faye outlined her plan. The more she spoke, the more eagerly Ed leaned forward, the more curiously Ein ruffed, and the more Jet had to fight to keep his face under control. He grunted eventual begrudging approval, but secretly, he was on the verge of laughing himself.

_Oh, Spike was going to hate it. No doubt about it._

_This was going to be a fun night._

…………………………………………….

  
  


Upon hearing of his abrupt house arrest, Spike had retreated to the bridge to blow off some steam. He wasn’t frustrated, per se, but he wasn’t entirely thrilled of the idea of having to hide again, either. He briefly considered throwing caution to the winds and taking one last bounty that night, or another trip to the bar, do anything that took him off this ship, but something held him back.

_Gentle arms and a disapproving glare..._

Whatever it was, the mysterious subconscious guardian of his safety convinced him to remain, if a fair bit irritated, on the Bebop. He spent several hours on the bridge, kicking air and relishing the adrenaline of exhausting himself. He wore himself out less quickly nowadays, but he still seemed to need to catch his breath and hold his side from time to time.

It seemed like the damn wound would never truly heal. Not really.

Spike sighed as he gazed out over the water, taking a break to breathe. They floated in one of the rivers around Ganymede, having finished up a favor that afternoon for one of Jet’s old ISSP contacts. The waters were calm, and the lights from the city dazzled in the twilight.

His thoughts drifted with the stars, millions of miles above their heads. He mused on his life, on smoke and roses and stars. His thoughts meandered through valleys of metal halls, menacing foggy banks and muted gunfire, turning occasionally towards the odd bright light or butterfly. Then, slowly, they eventually drifted to her.

Always to her.

He thought about the tug of her coat around her shoulders, the click of a bracelet around her ankle, every inch of her form gently submerging itself in his memory. He pondered how the force of her stubborn gaze always made him want to laugh at it, how her biting words tore at him with the same strength as her hand caressing his cheek.

Spike was beginning to understand this feeling, and he surprised himself by allowing it to remain in his peripheral. Their first meeting always seemed to float lazily by, reminding him of her ridiculous suit, her calculated flirting and irritated pleading. Back then, he’d thought her beautiful, and then he’d moved on.

Because that’s what he did. He saw people, he lived a moment with them, turned them in for a bounty, and moved on.

It was so much easier to just move on.

And yet the feeling flickered, and he let it, for now. It was like a low buzzing, a flutter of wings and strangeness in his chest. He imagined he’d felt it before, long ago perhaps, on some lonely street with a stranger for a day. The low buzzing that kept him up at night, or sent him to sleep in an instant. A flutter of wings when they stood side by side talking, and the world seemed to freeze for an instant and eternity. He’d felt it with Julia, the first time they’d met, but… it had quickly dissolved into fire and passion and a mad chase in the stars. 

_This_ strangeness had taken hold, slow and steady and almost sad, in its hesitancy.

Spike could never have that same burning expression of human synergy again; it merely made him want to jettison himself into space and never return to a time where he could feel.

But the butterflies… the butterflies were kind, tender and mellow and determined in their fluttering. The buzzing was addictive; it sent lightning coursing through his veins and made him want to fight and smile and exist forever in a single, tragic, beautifully frozen instant for eternity.

Spike was pulled from his musings slowly by a curious and gradual realization. It was only early evening, but the Bebop was suspiciously quiet. He’d expected by now _someone_ to wander through, whether to casually check on him or bother him into going to bed. But it remained quiet, restful and peaceful in the twilight.

And that was _very_ suspicious.

He was just about to stand, to meander through the ship (possibly past her room, maybe to see if she was still up, not that he cared all that much), when a soft pitter-patter of footsteps began approaching from behind.

It wasn’t her, he could tell, so he didn’t bother turning around. A second set of footsteps, significantly heavier and trying in vain to walk quietly on the creaking stairs, followed steadily behind.

_“Good work, Ein.”_

Spike narrowed his eyes, but kept his back to the stairs, cross-legged on the floor as he continued to gaze out over the water. More small footsteps and Ein was next to him, climbing gently into his lap and resting his paws on his chest. Spike raised an eyebrow at the corgi.

“You may _look_ innocent, but I don’t trust this and I don’t trust _you_ ,” he whispered.

Ein panted happily in his face but made no reply, because he was a dog. Spike sensed someone approaching from behind.

“Should I be worried?”

“Probably,” came Jet’s reply, just above and behind him to the right.

Spike sighed. “I _could_ just go to bed and leave you to your cryptic---”

“Not a chance in hell. Now just shut up and play along; the girls worked really hard on this. For the record, this one isn’t really for you; they’re trying to cheer _you_ up, in their own misguided way, but they’re having too much fun already, so be nice.”

Another sigh. “What do I have to do?”

“Don’t fight and don’t complain.”

The world went dark as Jet tied something over Spike’s eyes. There was shifting as Ein hopped off his lap, and Spike felt cuffs being clamped around his wrists. 

“Kinky,” he muttered as Jet dragged him to his feet and started leading him out of the room. 

Jet merely chuckled. “It’s really not.”

“Well, do I get to know what this is beforehand, at least?”

“No; it’d ruin the surprise.”

Spike grunted. “I hate surprises.”

They walked on in silence; Spike knew the layout of the ship well enough at this point that he was being guided back to the living room, where his probable doom awaited him. He could always fight back; he figured he’d be able to take Jet blind-folded any day. The handcuffs might prove to be a hindrance but he’d always managed to improvise before.

However, Spike’s curiosity had been piqued, so he allowed himself to be pulled along by Jet’s firm grip. He could hear Ein just ahead of them, yipping occasionally. Spike realized with some amusement that the yips were an indication of an approaching turn, doorway, or staircase, and he was able to regain some confidence in his walk to know what was coming.

_Mutt might be smarter than I thought._

Spike shuffled through one last doorway and was met by the sound of muffled giggling. He groaned inwardly as he was led down the stairs, the giggles only becoming louder as he approached. He was finally brought to a stop, and a second pair of hands gripped his waist as he was lowered carefully to the floor. He was seated upon something soft, and leaned against what he guessed to be the couch and a fair amount of pillows. His hands were tugged to the side, and Spike felt something brush against his arm.

_How the fuck is this not kinky---_

The blindfold was removed and Spike blinked at the sudden return of light. When he was able to see again, he could only bring himself to stare in bewilderment at the scene that was laid before him.

He’d been right, they were in the living room, but it was no longer the plain, graciously bare room he remembered with sudden longing. It was now a cacophony of color and glitter. A bizarre assortment of what he guessed to be womanly essentials were spread out on the coffee table: mysterious packets and brightly colored bands, an assortment of bottles he’d always figured were all different forms of shampoo, all gathered behind a rainbow collection of nail polish. The area around them was a sea of blankets and pillows, with the occasional fluffy robe thrown in apparently to add to the obnoxiously bright colors and soft atmosphere. He recognized the surface directly below him to be Faye’s futon, apparently dragged here from the depths of her room.

Faye sat at his side, grinning mischievously. Her leg was planted securely between his hands, the cuffs effectively trapping him where he sat. Spike glared at her.

“Faye, what is this?”

She shrugged. “Sleepover.”

Spike blinked incredulously. “Sleepover.”

“Mhm. We’ve all sorts of fun stuff planned, starting with what I’m guessing will be a first for you.”

She gestured at the line of nail polish on the table. If Spike’s eyes narrowed any further, they’d be closed.

_“No.”_

“Oh, I wasn’t asking.”

_“Faye, I swear---”_

Twin lanky arms wrapped around his neck from behind, and Ed cackled in his ear. “Spikey, Spikey, it’s a sleepover! Fun, fun, fun for everyone! Come on, Spikey, have some fun with us!”

Spike groaned, attempting to shake her away. He was about to give a snappy reply when he caught the warning look Jet flashed him. He relented with a sigh, raising his wrists wearily and shaking the cuffs. “Were these _really_ necessary?”

“We figured you’d never agree otherwise,” Faye chuckled.

“I never said I was agreeing _now_.”

Faye pulled his arm up her leg and rested his hand on her knee. His left hand dangled, uselessly, held there by the cuffs. “Oh shut up and pick a color,” she said, poking him playfully. “What’ll it be, cowboy?”

If Spike Spiegel had ever had a brain, he couldn’t properly remember and couldn’t seem to recover the motivation to find it. They were close, _dangerously_ close, with his arms trapped around her leg and their shoulders brushing slightly against each other. She smirked, plucking a vibrant red from the collection and waving it under his nose. “How about _Royal Flush,_ for our blushing bounty hunter?”

Spike schooled his face and frowned, only barely managing to tear his eyes away to look at the sea of nail polish. He could almost imagine they all had tiny faces, laughing at him in his torment. Finally, he managed to nod dully towards the first one that caught his eye, a small bottle with a white cap just in front of him. Faye took it thoughtfully and inspected the label.

“ _Jewel of the Heart,”_ she murmured, checking the name.

Spike grunted. “That’s a stupid name. It’s fucking green.”

“Emerald, to be precise. Would’ve figured you’d choose a blue.”

“I wear blue all the time; maybe I wanted to mix things up a bit.”

“Mmm.”

“This shit comes off, right?”

“Eventually.”

Spike glared at her headband as she began painting his nails. “Faye, if this stays on longer than a _day_ , I will kill you in your sleep.”

“I’d like to see you try, Spiegel.”

They continued to bicker as she worked, but Spike didn’t bother trying to move away. There was something about the moment that felt oddly… safe. Comfortable. Sure, he was miserable, but the lively, honest to goodness delight in her voice kept him in place, watching as her hair hung perfectly to frame her face.

There was a brief moment when Faye slid his hand leisurely to the side, resting it gently on her calf so she could have proper support for his thumb, that he had to fight to keep from vibrating out of his own skin.

_This is stupid this is the worst I want to die just kill me now please end my suffering I want to die---_

Faye blew on his fingers, sending goosebumps racing up his arm. “Alright, Ed, I’m all done. Your turn.”

Spike sputtered. “What?! One hand isn’t enough for you lunatics?!”

Faye smirked, and suddenly Spike was pulled roughly closer to the floor. The handcuffs were pinned under her leg, which she’d lowered abruptly to rest on the mattress. She plucked at the fingers of his left hand until they were splayed apart. Spike groaned, trying to find anywhere to look except for the leg right in front of him. Jet tutted from where he sat, overlooking the drama. “Now, now, Spike, let Edward have some fun. After all, this her _first_ sleepover, and she’s been _really_ sad lately, what with all the… uh… you know. Ed?”

Ed snickered, snatching a bottle from the table and sprawling next to Faye. “Ed picks this one, this one!” she called, waving the color over her head.

Faye held Ed’s wriggling wrist steady to check the name. “ _Lucid Dreaming._ I always liked that one, it’s a good violet color. Goes well with the green, too---”

“And it matches Faye-Faye’s hair!”

Spike’s hands went rigid against the mattress; he barely caught himself from resting the entirety of his weight on the arm over Faye’s calf in his surprise. He wished fervently that an army of enemies would rush into the room, that the Bebop would be crushed by a sudden meteor shower, _anything_ but the continuation of this moment. He shot Jet a furious glare over his shoulder, biting his lip to keep from yelling nonsense since his tongue was currently tying itself in knots. Jet smiled lazily back, raising an eyebrow. “What’s the matter, Spike, corgi got your tongue?”

Spike tried to channel every last fragment of rage he had ever felt into his eyes. Jet merely laughed and shook his head.

“Why aren’t _you_ being subjected to this?” Spike hissed.

“Hey, I was just here to escort the prisoner. Speaking of which, I gotta head out and get dinner. Faye’s treat tonight. Have fun now, kids!”

Spike inwardly seethed as he watched Jet wave his way up the stairs and out of sight. Eventually, he turned back to find Ed already started on his other hand and Faye leaning leisurely against the couch. She began to hum, bouncing her leg slightly to the rhythm of her quiet song. Spike eventually sighed and adjusted so he was sitting more comfortably on the futon, resigning himself to watch Ed paint his other hand haphazardly. He figured he really _should_ want to move, to break out of these cuffs and shuffle off to lock himself in his room, but a piece of his heart knew he wasn’t really a prisoner here, and he found he didn’t mind the entertainment.

This was certainly for their benefit, _not_ his, but he couldn’t help but settle under the contagious, playful peace that filled the room. Ein curled in his lap, watching Ed with rapt and thoughtful attentiveness. He _definitely_ wanted to shove the traitorous dog away, since his appearance had been the start of his troubles, but Spike graciously chose not to move.

This was for _their_ benefit, after all.

Not that he cared all that much.

They walked him through a series of painful and arduous tasks, including but not limited to facials and teaching Ed how to braid. Spike was thoroughly convinced he would be bald by the time Jet returned with food, from all the tugging and wrenching his hair received in the span of twenty minutes. Nevertheless, he kept the complaining to a minimum. He refused to not complain _entirely_ , but the gleeful grin on Ed’s face whenever she peered around to see his face managed to abate a few snide remarks.

At one point, Faye admonished him for being so tense, lounging on the couch behind him as she and Ed continued to work tiny braids into his hair. She started rubbing his shoulders, insisting he loosen up. Her hands must have worked some kind of sorcery, because time seemed to slow to a turtle’s pace. Spike vaguely remembered his earlier work out, and although he hadn’t even had dinner yet, he felt his eyes drooping and his body relaxing under her touch. He tried to blink himself awake, to stare at a light or at Ein in his lap or _anything_ of interest, but her hands pushed firmly into his sore shoulders, and he couldn’t deny that it was kind of soothing, and the pillows at his back were soft…

\----

“Spike? Hey, wake up, idiot, or you ain’t eating shit.”

Spike’s eyes snapped open at the sound of Jet’s voice. He wasn’t sure when he dozed off, but from Faye’s triumphant grin staring down at him, it was too long to be shrugged away. She was still sitting behind him on the couch, but now his head rested comfortably in her lap. Ed flopped at his side, tying what looked to be brightly colored yarn around his wrist, which had apparently been freed from its earlier chains. 

_“What took you so long?”_ Spike grunted, struggling upright and stretching his neck. He was aware of Faye’s knees still at his back.

“Faye’s list was… very specific,” Jet responded, shifting things aside to fit a paper bag and two flat boxes on the coffee table. “Eat it while it’s hot, or I’ll eat it for you.”

Ed whooped, making a dive for the boxes. Jet caught her easily and held her at bay until he was able to pry the lids open and reveal---

“Pizza?”

Faye shuffled forward to sit next to him on the futon. “I told you, it’s a sleepover,” she whispered, building herself a plate and passing him his own.

He blinked at her, momentarily at a loss for words. Their conversation from that first tentative night, weeks before, drifted gradually back to his memory. The feeling of her hand in his appeared like a specter in his mind, and he only barely stopped himself from reaching out and taking her hand again, if just to prove to himself that it was real. Instead, he accepted his food without comment, willing the nervous trembling to ease from his fingers.

The conversation was light and playful as they ate. Jet insisted on poking fun at Spike’s ‘new and improved look,’ to which Spike shot back with a bitter look that it sure looked like his _beard_ was long enough for some of the butterfly clips on the table. Faye shook with laughter as Ed lunged at Jet, who narrowly managed to hold her at arm’s length with a nervous smile. Spike felt his heart swell with satisfaction as she laughed by his side.

Not that he cared all that much.

The conversation continued, and eventually the pizza was decimated by the ravenous crew. Even Ein got his fill, though Spike wondered if a dog should really be having pizza. Jet cleared the dishes, Faye cleared the table of her various accessories and beauty products, and Ed dug into the paper bag, which was apparently filled with all sorts of ridiculous snacks and sweets for dessert. That left Spike to shuffle off his jacket and lean with a yawn against the couch, dreading what other nightmarishly cutesy activities could await in this disaster of an evening. The exhaustion was returning with a vengeance, and all he wanted to do was sink back and suffer the consequences of falling asleep here and now.

Instead, he watched as Jet lugged their shitty little viewing screen out from storage and plopped it down on the coffee table in front of him. Faye curled up again beside him, though she kept a respectful one inch between their shoulders. Ed snatched a blanket from the pile and bounded onto the couch behind them, grabbing Ein from Spike’s lap to snuggle him. Jet made some adjustments to the monitor and it flickered to life.

“What now?” Spike groaned, rubbing the back of his head wearily.

“Movie,” Jet responded, settling on the other end of the couch. “It’s an old one, Earth classic or some such nonsense. Again, Faye’s idea.”

Spike glanced to the side; Faye turned away quickly, but not before he saw the red in her cheeks. With a grunt, he shrugged. “One more thing couldn’t kill me, I guess. Bring it on.”

The movie started slow, and he wasn’t awake enough to follow it all that much. It seemed to be a romantic comedy, full of cheap laughs and exasperatingly gushy moments, but the crew around him seemed to like it, so Spike kept his mouth shut. He couldn’t, however, keep his head from lolling forward every so often, as it got harder and harder for his eyes to remain open. Finally, he felt Faye shuffle closer, pressing her arm against his. She rested her head delicately on his shoulder.

_“You’re tired, cowboy,”_ she whispered. _“Just lean against me, I’ll wake you when the movie’s over.”_

Spike tried to reply, but his head was already drooping to rest against hers. He sighed, letting his heavy eyelids finally flutter closed as the sounds from the film faded into the background. Their positions weren’t as comfortable as his tired mind wanted, and on an impulse he drew his arm up and around to rest on the couch, so that Faye rested more comfortably against his side. She tensed slightly, but he was already dozing against her, briefly smiling at the events that had led them to this ridiculous moment.

Maybe sleepovers weren’t so bad, after all.

Not that he cared all that much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. In many circles, emeralds are associated with the heart and Venus, the roman goddess of love. The color green is often perceived as being calming and rejuvenating, so it's no wonder that emeralds are also associated with emotional renewal and balance in relationships.
> 
> 2\. The color violet is associated with imagination and dreaming, a calming color that encourages balance and wisdom.
> 
> 3\. Yes Ed was making him a friendship bracelet. Yes they all have one. Yes even Jet, though he keeps his in his pocket. Ein's is tied to his collar.
> 
> 4\. It took me three days to write this bc I spent most of them foaming at the mouth every time I wrote a new, increasingly cute sentence. I meant for this to be even longer but the ending was just too good so the follow up will have to deal with that.
> 
> I really do plan on writing more Jet and Ed, bc I really want to develop his paternalness and have Ed have some introspective moments, but like... bruh. I am. I am DEEP in the slow burn pit I just keep digging further bc honestly?? How could I not? Those 'things I wanted to get to' from the notes at the beginning? Fluff. I fooled you. Yes there's story stuff but Also. THE FLUFF.
> 
> I might make another side story of like, one shots that do more of that exploring, or just as a place for scenes that don't necessarily fit in the rhythm of the story as I'm telling it. What do y'all think? Let me know if that'd be something you're interested in!
> 
> Thanks again for reading, and remember to be kind to each other!
> 
> *cough cough* if there are any artists out there who feel the urge to recreate any of the scenes from this fic, I am also one of those artists and will link any and all as they arise. Bless and thank.


	23. Chosen Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No summary bc I couldn't think of one lol BUT! 
> 
> If you've been enjoying this series and are desperately looking for more Bebop content, I cannot recommend strongly enough the Darkwave Chronicles by ShadowcrestNightingale. I've been jumping from fic to fic and I have been so enthralled by their work. It's a mix of comedy, action, Spike getting the everliving shit beat out of him, and some of the most incredible, Human moments I've ever read. It feels so canon it's unreal, and they're still working through one of my ABSOLUTE favorite works, Bebop Redemption, as of a couple days ago. 
> 
> The fandom's small and I'm new (late by over 20 years) but damn it, their work is Fucking Incredible and truly the most captivating novels I've had the pleasure to read. It's got drama, it's got spice, it's got some of the most incredible action sequences I've ever read (again, Spike getting the shit beat out of him), and it's been such a pleasure to read. 11/5 recommend!
> 
> Alright! On we go!

Ed was content. All snuggled with Ein, blankets and food and fun times accounted for, Ed was cozy, and warm, and content

She pried her eyes open blearily, taking in Ein’s steady breathing against her chest and the dim lights of the living room. The remains of last night’s entertainment were still strewn about the place, though not as helter-skelter as she remembered leaving it. The television screen remained planted on the coffee table, but the last afterglows had long since faded, indicating its power being cut many hours ago. Ed stretched, yawning leisurely as she blinked the last traces of sleep from her eyes. Peering into the dim room, she searched for any indication of her human crewmates.

She found two of them, curled haphazardly off the side of the couch.

Ed stared widely as the pair slept on, Spike’s arms thoroughly wrapped around Faye. They breathed in tandem, still dressed in their clothes from the day before and legs all sorts of tangled under a loose blanket. Faye snored softly into his chest.

Slowly, a smile crept across Ed’s cheeks. She giggled, clamping a hand over her own mouth to stifle the noise. She shook Ein gently, shushing him as he gave a toothy, bemused yawn.

_“Edward was right, Ein!”_ she whispered victoriously, pointing down over the couch.

Ein squinted as he followed her finger. The corgi’s eyes shot open, and his head cocked curiously to the side. Ed held a finger to her lips.

_“Now, Ein, there is only one way to properly wake sleeping beauties,”_ she giggled again, leaning as far over the edge of the couch as she could without toppling over. _“With a kiss!”_

A metal hand suddenly gripped her arm from behind.

_“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, kiddo.”_

Ed frowned, gazing over her shoulder at Jet, who glared down at her sternly. _“But Edward was riiiight! Faye-Faye and the Spike-person are---”_

_“Whatever they are is none of our business,”_ Jet interrupted. _“What_ **_does_ ** _matter is that if you wake them up now, I’d only be able to stop_ **_one_ ** _of them from killing you. Let them be.”_

Ed rolled into a ball. _“Jet-friend no fun,”_ she pouted, crossing her arms dramatically. _“Edward was to be priiiincess charming and wake the sleeping beauties with good morning kisses!”_

Jet chuckled, leaning against the back of the couch. _“That’s not how the story goes, kiddo.”_

_“Yes it is. Ein told me so.”_

Ein gave a non-committal huff.

_“Yeah well,_ **_Ein_ ** _slobbers over anyone who’ll let him.”_

Jet raised his hands defensively at the corgi’s low growl. _“Hey, I’m just sayin’.”_

Ed gripped her knees tightly, peering over them at the sleeping pair. Jet heaved a quiet sigh and ruffled her hair. _“Let them rest a bit longer; it’s been a while since Spike’s had this deep a sleep. He’s usually up way late in the night until she comes to fetch him. Plus, after last night’s adventure, I think he’s earned it.”_

Ed leaned back to stare up at Jet’s face. _“Spike-person still having the bad dreams?”_

Jet nodded slowly; Ed peered curiously at the sad look in his eyes. _“Does Jet get the bad dreams, too?”_

Jet dipped his head to the side, meeting her with that same somber gaze. _“Sometimes. Not something for a kiddo like you to worry about.”_

She poked his beard playfully. _“Do not worry, Jet. Ed understands. Ed has the bad dreams sometimes, too.”_

Jet’s eyes turned quickly from bewilderment to concern. Ed hummed thoughtfully and looked back at the snoozing bounty hunters at her feet. She didn’t dare stop humming, even as a tear slowly coursed down her cheek. Ein whimpered, licking at it with concern. She smiled brightly at him.

_“Ed… are… shit, kid, I didn’t… are you… ah, fuck.”_

Ed blinked in surprise as Jet’s hands rested gently on her shoulders. She listened thoughtfully as he sighed. _“I’m… damn it, I’m not a parent but if you need someone to talk to---”_

_“Edward talks to Ein,”_ she whispered. _“Ein is a good listener.”_

Another tear followed its predecessor’s trail.

The hands on her shoulders tightened slightly. It was… comforting.

_“Sure, kid. Well… maybe sometime… if you want someone who’ll talk back, you know Faye or Spike or I---”_

_“Ein talks back just fine. Sometimes Ein talks back a little too much and then Edward loses a lead.”_

An indignant huff. Ed giggled. _“Only kidding, Ein-Ein. Such a good-good boy would do no such thing.”_

Jet released her and gave her a soft pat on the head. _“Sure, kid. Keep an eye on them for me; I’m gonna go make breakfast. Had to clean up after you bastards last night, I was the only one awake by the end of the movie.”_

Ed yawned again, widely. _“Did they win?”_

_“What?”_

_“The peoples in the movie, did they win?”_

_“I… well… I mean, I guess?”_

_“Good. Edward likes when they win.”_

Jet chuckled, treading lightly towards the kitchen. _“Not sure romance is exactly about ‘winning’ but, whatever. Don’t be a bother, Ed, I’m warning you.”_

Ed grinned and lounged upside-down on the couch. Spike’s hair all but obscured her view of their faces, but she was able to watch easily as his arms remained limp and comfortable around Faye. His chest rose and fell steadily, uninterrupted by sudden hitches of breath or fitful twitching.

_Good. No bad-bad dreams in the night._

Ed’s thoughts drifted to her return to the Bebop. The familiar halls, the stale smell of cigarette smoke, the gentle hum of the engine and various units within the hull. She’d twirled into the living room, free and full and ecstatic to be back, until she’d ground to a halt by the couch. Spike’s entire body writhed, his chest heaving as he’d whimpered in his sleep, too tired to reawaken but too tortured by nightmares to really sleep. She’d stood above him, mildly stunned and confused, as he shuddered and squirmed. When he’d shot awake, Ed had stepped back, surprised by the terrified sheen in his eyes.

_Spike-person was never scared like this. Not before._

‘Freaked out’ was the phrase she’d used to describe him, loads of times. Every single member of the crew had been ‘freaked out’ at least a dozen times, in their travels, and she’d seen Faye-Faye and Jet experience something Spike called ‘being scared shitless’. Even Ed had to admit she’d been scared a few times, but she got back up again, because she knew her adventure wasn’t over. She got back up and smiled wide, because she knew they needed her.

But Spike… Spike was never scared. Afraid, sure. ‘Freaked out’ and running for his life, angry and miserable and brows scrunching in concentration. But this… was different. Being afraid was easy, because there was still someone nearby to look to. Being scared was inescapable, because that meant you were alone. It was an instinct far deeper than Ed had ever seen from the lazy, reckless, lively bounty hunter. 

And that scared her more than anything else she’d seen in her life.

She’d hesitated, but she wanted to see if he was still in there, somewhere. She _needed_ to. Spike had cringed away from her, still delirious and not fully awake.

Ed wasn’t scared of him. She was afraid, but not scared. So, she did the best thing she knew how to do. She smiled and took his hand. She sang and spoke and searched to find if he was still there.

The slight recognition in his eyes had been a relief, but he was still terrified, still frozen in his own mind. She hid her relief and held his hand as firmly as she could. Faye eventually arrived and managed to calm him down with the weird slow breathing, and Ed had listened, and Ed had learned.

She practiced, in the dark, when no one else was looking. She counted, seven in, eleven out. Seven in, eleven out.

Next time, she’d be ready. 

Ed wasn’t sure why, but she slept a little better after practicing.

She was drawn back to the present by Ein’s muzzle in her face. She giggled, hugging him tight as she stared giddily at the ceiling fan. Ein was a very good boy; he always knew what to do when she was sad or scared.

He’d known what to do with Papa, when he’d been sad. Papa had had the same look that Spike had. A nameless fear only because he’d been too scared to name it. Ein had whined, and Ed had smiled, and Papa had felt a little better.

For a time.

Ed hummed at the ceiling, frowning at the memories as they threatened to drift into view. She reached her arms over her head and held her breath, pretending to swim away to the safety of the Bebop, to the safety of Ein’s nose by her cheek and Spike and Faye-Faye’s breathing just below her.

But the thoughts nevertheless resurfaced, like the fizzy bubbles of a soda Spike had treated her to one hot day a long, long time ago. They didn’t pop, though; that would mean releasing the pent-up pressure within. They just… floated. The surface of the thought bubbles were smooth and thick, and slowly they began sinking together as the memories grew steadily more vivid.

Ed didn’t have a lot of memories of Papa, but they made her smile. She knew she got her adventurousness from him; it was certain by the way he got lost in the meteor showers, inspired and insistent in his desire to map them all. He laughed loudly and sincerely, for every moment of joy was one to cherish.

At night, he sighed. He sighed and shook, just like Spike. He smiled to hide his fear, but Ed saw it when he thought she wasn’t looking. Ed watched and listened and learned a lot in her short reunion with her father.

And she smiled. She smiled and sang and Ein bounded on beside her, whimpering and barking and keeping her on the ground. Ed had loved the Bebop adventure, but she’d sensed its end drawing near, and a new adventure with Papa had presented itself.

A new, fun adventure.

It _had_ been fun, while it lasted.

And then… a meteor struck the same place twice.

Ed blinked as the thought bubble burst and tears pooled in her eyes. She tried to sniff them away, but Ein was faster. He whined and licked her face, wriggling in her arms to draw closer. She smiled and hummed, holding him tightly and letting the tears fall where they might. 

It was good to cry, once in a while. It wasn’t fun, but it felt good afterwards.

She peered again through her haze of tears at the pair still fast asleep on the floor. Spike’s head had turned ever so slightly to reveal Faye’s cheek pressed into his collarbone. He took a deep breath, and Ed waited with anticipation for the flicker of fear, the cringe in the stillness, but it never came. Instead, he released a contented sigh and shuffled a little in his sleep, Faye secured gently in his arms. 

Slowly, carefully, Ed peeled back his bangs and peered into his face. A small smile hovered on his lips. 

Ed grinned.

_“Ed knew it,”_ she whispered dramatically, keeping her voice low in accordance with Jet’s warning. _“Ed knew the Spike-person would find his smiley face. He smiled in the daytimes, but now he can smile in the sleepy-times, too.”_

Ed rolled onto her stomach and folded her arms under her chin; Ein twisted to rest at her side, paws in a similar position at the edge of the couch. They stared together at the pair on the floor, Ed giggling every so often at Faye’s soft snores.

Ed had made many families in her travels, with nuns and other kids and strangers who fell in easily as her best friends. But the Bebop was special, because she’d _chosen_ them. She’d seen them in her digital world, zooming haphazardly through the stars without a clear course or a direct plan. She loved the silly ship with the silly name, and loved even more the silly crew in her halls.

They’d tried to leave her behind at first, but Ed had already decided they were her next adventure. They were special, she could feel that deep inside her heart. The stars had called her, along with the funny ship with the funny name.They called, like a song stuck in her head for days on end, and she’d followed. And she was glad she’d followed.

Eventually, she’d decided to move on again, to the next adventure with Papa, because they didn’t need her anymore. Their adventure was becoming serious, and strange, and that was no place for one such as Edward Wong Hau Pepelu Tivruski IV. She promised herself, one day, when she was old and gray and silly like them, she’d try to find them again, maybe just once.

Ed liked the Bebop. Ed liked Jet, and Faye, and Spike. They were silly and strange and she loved them.

And now, she was back again, for better or worse. Their adventure continued long past what she’d thought was the end. She’d seen Spike die on the television, not a week after staying with Papa. A month later, a meteor struck twice, and she was alone again, to wander into the next adventure.

Well, not exactly alone. Ein was always by her side at every turn. He’d been there, to follow her to Papa, even when she told him to stay. He’d been there, barking at her heels as she’d giggled her way across the Earthen fields, chasing after falling stars and dreams. He’d been there, the fateful morning when she’d decided to sleep in just a little later than usual…

He’d been there, when they’d found the wreckage.

And he’d followed her still, even into the streets of Earth, with no home again, no money, and no clear adventure in sight. Because they were a team, Ed and Ein.

Ed grinned at the thought. _Ed and Ein, partners in digital crime!_

She planted a kiss on the corgi’s wet snout. _“Good good Ein, always looking out for Ed,”_ she whispered as he returned the gesture with a slobber and a huff.

Ed breathed deep the smell of stale cigarette smoke and the hints of last night’s pizza. The tears had finally subsided and she was content again. They may come again; she figured they would eventually. Tears were never consistent, but they were reliable to return sometime without her thinking about it.

And that was okay.

_“--- if you want someone who’ll talk back, you know Faye or Spike or I---”_

Ed pursed her lips at the thought. She side-eyed Ein, who panted lightly.

_“Maybe one day, but not today,”_ she whispered, bumping him with her shoulder. _“Edward Wong Hau Pepelu Tivruski IV is not afraid of crying, even if they are.”_

She ruffled Ein’s ears with a grin; the corgi rolled his head happily to the touch. _“You’re a very good listener, Ein. Maybe one day, you’ll help me do the talkies for real.”_

Ed hummed and returned to her guard duty. A strange, sweet smell was drifting in from the kitchen, of something _suspiciously_ similar to pancakes. Faye shifted in her sleep, eyelids fluttering. Ed curled on the edge of the couch, watching intently.

_Maybe there would be morning kisses after all,_ she thought with a cheeky grin.

She’d just have to wait and see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took me a bit, not gonna lie. I've been waiting on writing Ed's perspective partially because I didn't think I really understood her thought processes. And boy was I right. The more time I spent mulling it over, the more I realized I Really rushed her return to the Bebop. I just got so caught up in, "OH FUCK I JUST WANT THE HAPPIES BACK," that I didn't spend a lot of time thinking about Why she left and what could ever bring her back.  
> I'm really glad I took this long to spend time on this chapter, because I'm way more satisfied with it than I thought I'd be. I'm also fucking Sad y'all, because in my desire to justify my own actions I just headcannoned a fuckton of grief for myself.  
> Part of me feels like I should start splitting this fic into different sub fics, and just like intertwine them together as I may, but honestly Cowboy Bebop has always been about their collective story for me. Together. Sure, there was mostly focus on Spike, and he's my boy so I'm always excited for that. Yet there was always something happening with the others, and even they got their focuses from time to time.
> 
> Don't get me wrong, my heart is still going to slow burn the shit out of this. That is the Goal. But I keep coming upon new goals, and I like where they're taking me. So I hope you'll indulge me in a little bit of sadness and reflection for everyone's feral Radical Edward. She deserves a story right alongside them and I really hope I can do her justice. 
> 
> I'll get back to the fluff in no time, don't you worry. But the kiddo really needed a moment in the starlight :)
> 
> leave a comment and let me know what you think!


	24. The Name of the Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faye wakes up first.

He’d done it again.

Somehow, in his sleep, in the middle of the _fucking_ living room, the bastard had done it again.

Faye peeled her eyes open slowly, aware of every slight movement as she gradually regained consciousness. Silently, she cursed; she hadn’t intended on falling asleep during the movie, but she’d been so warm and full it was hard to argue against it being an inevitability.

She couldn’t say she was surprised by his left arm wrapped around her shoulders; she remembered that bit from when he’d fallen asleep. However, she didn’t _exactly_ remember when his right arm seemed to have coiled around her waist. They had also slunk lower against the couch, and were now resting entirely on the pile of pillows she and Ed had formed the night before. 

Her forehead was pressed into the crook of Spike’s neck. His chest rose and fell, blissfully calm in the morning stillness. Faye bit back a chuckle; even if he _was_ a pain in the ass, it was nice to see him relaxed, for the time being.

She shifted a couple inches away, staring thoughtfully into his face as he breathed. His entire posture was completely still, eyelids lightly closed and not a hint of tension in his features. The corners of his lips were turned slightly upward; apparently, whatever was going on in that lunkhead brain of his, it was nice.

After a few moments, he swallowed thickly, and his eyelids fluttered in the first precious seconds of rousing. In a panic, Faye shut her eyes and rested back against his arm, so that she was face to face with him when he awoke. Curious to see what he would do, she steadied her breathing and pretended to sleep on. She had to bite back a smile at the thought of his bewildered face, flushed at their apparently sudden proximity.

His breathing changed, and she felt a yawn lift his chest. Then, a deep inhale and a contented sigh. Faye waited, knowing it was only a matter of time before he opened his eyes and she’d feel sweet victory at his surprise.

Minutes passed, and yet he still didn’t budge. She could hear him, breathing softly, directly in front of her, but he as of yet hadn’t moved. It took every iota of control not to open her eyes and glare at him.

_What’s he waiting for?_

Then, he shifted. Faye felt herself being gently pulled nearer, and something hard pressed against her forehead. _His_ forehead. She couldn’t stop her mouth from hanging slightly open in her shock, but managed to relax her face enough to act as if it was just an adjustment in her sleep. He breathed deeply again, and his nose brushed delicately against hers. 

Faye was frozen. In the weeks they’d spent side by side, she’d assumed she was always the first one up. Every morning, she’d pry his arms from around her (if a bit begrudgingly), and Spike wouldn’t stir for another ten minutes, maybe more. He’d just lie there, breathing calmly as she stretched herself awake. She figured a man like him _must_ sleep like the dead.

But as he held her, pressing his forehead against hers, she could sense a calm familiarity in his movements. There was no discomfort, no surprise in his embrace. Spike shifted slightly, perhaps feeling the barely-concealed tension coursing through Faye’s body. He brought his hand to the small of her back and adjusted her to rest more snugly in his arms. He had good instincts, because she was instantly more comfortable, and that only made her more furious.

Then, the final straw. With a delicate hand, he ran his fingers through her hair and pressed his cheek to the side of her face. Faye felt his lips ghost her skin, and his breath sent goosebumps cascading down her spine. She opened her eyes and prepared her most infuriated glare.

_“What’re you doing, Spike?”_

He froze, his cheek still resting against hers. Slowly, he cracked his eyes open and sleepily adjusted to meet her steely gaze. He made no effort to move away, but she could see the gears turning as he pursed his lips. Finally, he raised a sluggish eyebrow.

_“Nothin’.”_

_“Bullshit.”_

He groaned, surging forward and tucking her head once again into his shoulder. Faye blanched, frozen in stunned silence as he sighed, seemingly returning to his previous slumber.

_“Spike---”_

_“Shaddup, Faye; I’m still sleeping.”_

Faye tried to struggle away, but his arms tensed around her, keeping her firmly pressed to his chest. She managed to wriggle her arms free and poked him in the sides.

_“Spiegel, let go of me this_ **_instant_ ** _.”_

_“Mmm. Maybe I don’t wanna.”_

She struggled against his shoulder, but only received a chuckle for her efforts. She felt him breathe softly on the back of her neck, and a competitive fire burned in the back of her mind.

_“Oh, you wanna play_ **_that_ ** _game, do you?”_ Instantly, her hiss turned to a purr.

A soft hum against her shoulder was his only response. Faye worked her arms around his sides, trying her best to move gently to avoid raising suspicion. Then, she worked her way back again, slowly and purposefully tugging his shirt free from his pants. She felt a burn of satisfaction when Spike gave a confused grunt. He pulled back slightly, fixing her with a bemused stare.

_“What’re_ **_you_ ** _doing, Faye?”_

_“Taking the offensive,”_ she replied, untucking at the last corner of his shirt. She slid a finger up the front, and began plucking the buttons undone, one by one. Spike kept his arms around her, but she could sense his muscles contracting reflexively at every button.

_“Careful, Faye,”_ he murmured, keeping his gaze steady, _“I might think you’re trying to seduce me.”_

_“In your dreams, Spiegel,”_ she whispered back, undoing the last two buttons. Faye smiled as his gaze narrowed, but unfortunately, her tactic seemed to be proving ineffective beyond that look. A devilish idea sparked in her mind.

She was going to win this exchange, whatever the cost.

_“That do anything for you, cowboy?”_ she purred, skittering delicate nails across his bare chest.

Spike’s eyes flew open as his entire body went stiff. His frown deepened but he determinedly refused to budge. Faye spotted what looked to be a spark in his left iris. A challenge.

So be it.

Faye slid her hand under his shirt and around his side, running a finger gradually, purposefully up his spine. Spike’s eyes fluttered as he fought to retain eye contact, and his back arched under her touch. If she had to give him credit for anything, it was that he was stubborn, because he managed to blink hard and lean forward, raising an eyebrow as he drew close to her face.

_“That the best you’ve got, Valentine?”_ he breathed, his lips inches from hers.

Faye’s heart pounded violently in her chest. Time had slowed to a crawl as she tried to decipher the meaning in this moment.

She knew the plays of this game. She’d countered and double-countered dozens of men this same way, and there was only one move either of them could make.

Spike’s eyes narrowed further, half-closed and almost taunting in their nonchalant gaze. He inched steadily closer, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. His mouth…

Only one move left to play…

_“_ ** _Now_ ** _who’s seducing who?”_ Faye whispered, desperately trying to control her pounding heart with little success. 

Spike’s eyes lost some of their determination, replaced by something quiet and curious. They were centimeters apart…

_“What are we talking about? Edward likes to whisper, too!”_

Faye shrieked, ripping her arms from around Spike and shoving him away as hard as she could. He grunted in surprise, flailing in an attempt to catch himself before he fell hard on the metal grating. The bounty hunter struggled to his elbows, breathing heavily and spitting a series of colorful curses.

“What the hell, Faye?!” 

Faye scrambled to her feet, wrapping a blanket hurriedly around her shoulders. She was still fully dressed but felt suddenly dangerously exposed. Spike’s shirt was completely flung open, revealing a heaving chest and his bare abs. Confused and flustered, Faye whirled on Ed, who was lounging on the couch with a maniacal grin on her face. Ein wriggled by her side, panting and staring between the newly-awakened bounty hunters.

“Ed, you little shit, what the hell is the matter with you?!” Faye hissed, trying to keep her eyes fixed on anything but the bounty hunter struggling to his feet.

Ed shrugged, clambering to lie on the back of the couch. “Ed has nothing the matter with Ed,” she chirped, pointing at Spike’s open shirt. “Why is the Spike-person’s shirt open?”

Faye’s cheeks flushed as she glared out of the corner of her eye. Spike smirked, taking his time as he rebuttoned his shirt. “Ever heard of a strip tease, kid?”

“ASSHOLE!!!”

Faye barreled past him down the hall, ignoring the laughter exploding from behind her. She ignored Jet as he poked his head quizzically out of the galley, instead storming past towards her room.

“Breakfast’s re--- you okay, Faye?”

“FUCK OFF, JET.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's... heh. It's fun being me :D
> 
> RIP to everyone, including myself who had to edit this and just.... try not to throw my own keyboard out the window
> 
> I briefly considered keeping this chapter and the next one together, but it felt Way too long, so I'mma keep this one as is. You'll see why.
> 
> Edit: I'M REREADING SOME CHAPTERS AND IT'S JUST OCCURRED TO ME THE BOY WOULD BE WEARING HIS WORKOUT SHIT RIGHT NOW NOT HIS SUIT I WAS SO HELL-BENT ON THIS SCENE THAT I PLAYED MYSELF LIKE A FOOL.  
> someday...... when i rework this to make it better........... i will fix this. but i'm too ashamed to do that atm please forgive me


	25. Party's Over

Spike grinned as he sauntered after Ed towards the kitchen. He didn’t bother retucking his shirt; it served as proof of his recent victory.

Victory in a game he was coming to realize was… becoming complicated.

The physical was there. That was simply an objective fact. He’d seen the way her eyes dilated, felt his own breath catch at her fingers against his skin. It was nothing but simple, ridiculous physical attraction. 

He couldn’t deny, he’d definitely had the thought once or twice in their travels. Yet now, something unexpected tightened in his chest. Hesitation. Faye was beautiful, but so what? Beauty burned. Beauty was temporary. Besides, she was always too… something. Loud. Hostile. Frantic. Moody. Pushy.

… Real.

_ What had she said? _

_ “Do you know what I think, Spike? I think you are.  _ **_Tangible_ ** _.” _

Spike flexed a hand, staring at the green nail polish glittering on his fingertips.

_ “I know because I’ve felt your heartbeat fade more times than I’d like to recall.” _

He snorted, the smile fading from his lips. 

_ Why should she care about his heartbeat? It’s not like she’d spent much time thinking about it before--- _

\----

Mad Pierrot. 

_ He’d been barely lucid when Jet and Faye pulled him from the river. Spike remembered vaguely her shouting his name as Jet lifted him over his shoulders, her fingers pulling at his eyelids as she tried to keep him conscious. She’d denied it vehemently when he woke up. _

\----

The cryptic summons the day after.

_ “Maybe this is the one. The one I won’t come back from. The end.” _

_ He’d been joking. She hadn’t. He’d shrugged away her scowl with a grin. _

_ “Just playing with your head. Would you come rescue me if it were true?” _

_ “... Lunkhead.” _

\----

The theme park.

_ Her ship, soaring over his head as rockets exploded behind him. Her turrets drawing Pierrot’s fire and letting Spike regain some ground.  _ **_Some_ ** _ ; not stopping him almost getting crushed, but still. It was something. _

\----

The chapel. Waking up, exhausted, aching, and sore to the sound of her humming.

_ “You finally awake, huh? You slept too much, you’ve been asleep three days. Yeah, I was startin’ to  _ **_worry about you_ ** _. Hey, you should be grateful to me for  _ **_staying_ ** _ here.” _

\----

Spike shrugged the thoughts away.  _ What do _ **_I_ ** _ care? We’re just comrades, plain and simple. _

Just comrades.

_ Faye collapsing on the stairs, an angry purple blotch pulsing on her leg. He’d carried her to the living room. She was limp and shaking in his arms. _

… Just comrades.

_ Faye’s motionless form, splayed out near the tower of aggravating televisions.  _

_ He checked her pulse; unconscious, but alive. No injuries, at least not obvious ones. She looked… peaceful. _

Just… friends.

That’s all they were. That’s all they ever  _ could _ be. 

And they  _ were _ friends. He’d confirmed it with his own mouth.

They were friends. 

\----

It was still hard to imagine, having friends. Even after years bounty hunting with Jet, exploring the stars and fighting and living, he’d always felt a slight detachment. They’d gotten closer, and now… now he could say with some hesitation that they were more than comrades. But he’d had comrades before, that had felt like friends, like  _ family _ . And they’d nearly destroyed him.

He’d purposefully kept his life from her, to make sure she didn’t care too much. To make sure  _ none _ of them cared too much. Vicious and Julia had known his secrets, and he’d been betrayed and abandoned. Maybe because of it, maybe not. But they’d known.  _ These _ people, they didn’t know the second thing about him.

But they kept fucking caring anyway. He wasn’t going to go down that road again, the self-pity shithole he’d dug before, but the feeling of… he wasn’t sure… inadequacy? Still lingered. Still festered. Still burrowed into his bones and made his stomach clench.

Spike hesitated in the hall.

_ She didn’t know him. She didn’t know the  _ **_first_ ** _ thing about him. _

_ But she’d stayed. She still strong-armed him, fought him, and in recent days, held him. Held him closer than he’d been held in a long time. _

_ Like… she trusted him. _

Trust is a dangerous thing.

Spike didn’t trust people, not really. 

He couldn’t afford to. 

Not again.

_ “Damn it, Spike, I  _ **_miss_ ** _ you.” _

\----

Spike clenched his fists with a scowl. 

He’d let the feeling linger out of curiosity, but it had grown too far. It had gained root, and now it was… stubborn. Abrasive. As he tried to grasp it, sink his teeth into it and keep it under control, it fought back with a nasty spark. He’d never really trusted the feeling, but now… he realized too late he didn’t  _ need _ to trust it for it to exist and grow beyond his control.

He wasn’t worried about feelings. He was worried of the traction they were gaining in the waking world. He was worried with how intent he was for her touch, how much he had to resist the pull to hold her, to take her hand and never let go. He worried about the intensity with which he listened to her voice and dwelled on her words, how desperately he wanted to spend every moment looking at her until hell froze over.

Spike shook his head in an attempt to clear it, but the thoughts of her face were just replaced by the echoes of her voice.

_ “Don’t push people away just because you’re scared to care again.” _

_ That’s not… _

_ “I can’t give you purpose, Spike, and I don’t intend to.” _

_ I don’t need you to… _

_ “I don’t regret saving you, and I never will.” _

_ … Why? _

_ “Live and know I’m not losing you again.  _ **_I refuse to._ ** _ ” _

**_You should._ **

“Spike? You okay, bud?”

Spike blinked, registering Jet’s curious expression from the galley doorway. “Mmm?”

The older bounty hunter cocked an eyebrow. “You’ve been standing there staring into space for a good minute. You feelin’ alright?”

Spike shrugged, trying to ease the frown from his face and replace it with his usual lazy stare. “Still waking up, I s’pose.”

He ignored Jet’s dissatisfied grunt as he shuffled past him to the kitchen. The air was sickly sweet, but the sight of Ed and Ein chowing down on an absurd stack of pancakes on the floor was enough to keep him from commenting.

“Faye okay? The pancakes were her idea.”

Spike snorted, shrugging his shoulder in an attempt to seem indifferent. “Why don’t you go ask her yourself? I’m not the woman’s keeper.”

His answer was too sharp, carried too much bite, he knew. But he schooled his features and kept his back to Jet, pouring himself a cup of coffee. The sounds of munching faltered.

_ “Ooh la la,” _ Ed whispered. 

Spike fought the impulse to bristle as he turned to face them. “The fuck’s  _ your _ problem?” he asked, trying to alleviate the tension in his voice.

He was met with thoughtful and silent stares all around. He chose to ignore the stoney-faced glare from Jet and Ed’s impishly pursed lips, instead focusing on… Ein. Ein, who cocked his head, mouth closed, eyes unnervingly attentive.

_ He’s a dog. Dog’s don’t know shit. _

Jet raised his eyes to the ceiling and sighed. Spike thought he heard him muttering under his breath, but he was too busy trying not to crush the coffee mug in his hand as he shuffled out of the kitchen. 

“Whatever,” Spike muttered, waving listlessly over his shoulder. “Thanks for the party, but I’d prefer to never do that again. My back’s killing me; you shoulda woken me up or some shit. Have fun with your sugar.”

He stalked down the hall towards the bridge; the living room was still a disaster and his room was too close to… hers.

_ That’s it, then. The dream is over. It has to be _

The feeling hovered, just under the surface of his thoughts, but this time he forced it back with stubborn indifference, because it was just that: a feeling. A feeling he’d let linger for  _ far _ too long, it seemed. Feelings were supposed to come and go, short and detached, like the tide.

Feelings were temporary. And even if they weren’t, they could still be buried.

…………………………………………….

Jet folded his arms, leaning heavily against the galley’s doorframe as he glared after Spike’s receding figure. Ein snuffed from his place on the floor.

“Jet?”

He grunted, glancing down at Ed. She tilted her head towards him, one finger pressed thoughtfully to her mouth. “Spike-person did not seem so happy as earlier. He was  _ very _ happy before.”

Jet shook his head, shrugging helplessly. “Your guess is as good as mine. What  _ happened _ ? I only heard Faye yell and she  _ stormed _ off without saying anything.”   
  


“Ooooooh, flirty Faye-Faye and sleepy Spike flirted for a long-long time! ‘ _ Careful Faye-Faye, I might think you’re trying to seduuuuce meeee.’ ‘That do anything for you, cowboooy?’  _ Flirty flirty, all morning.”

Jet stared, open-mouthed and bug-eyed, as Ed wriggled on the floor, hugging Ein and giving poor impressions of their crewmates. She grinned upwards. “Flirty-flirty, but no kissy-kissy!”

_ “Ed, what did you  _ **_do_ ** _?” _

“Edward did nothing but say hullo! Then Faye-Faye scream, pushing the naughty sleepy Spike away! Faye-Faye run, and sleepy Spike left to button his shirt himself.” 

Ed frowned thoughtfully. “Jet, what is a strip tease?”

Jet buried his head in his hands, sinking weakly to the floor. Ein wiggled out of Ed’s grasp, bounding over to Jet and poking at him curiously with his snout.

“Jet?”

He sighed, opening his fingers to peer wearily at the grinning child. “Ed… I think things just took a turn for the worse.”

Her eyebrows rose. Slowly, she raised her hands into the shape of a heart. “Do Faye-Faye and Spike not know that they’re---”

  
Jet closed his fingers again, vainly attempting to hide in the darkness of his own hands. “Not a damn clue, kid.  _ Not a damn clue. _ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My working title for this chapter: "This is where the uh-oh begins."
> 
> Again, I struggled on whether or not to keep this together with the previous chapter, but it would have been so long together, and I'm not gonna lie, I felt the need to give some... hope before things took the big yikes turn.
> 
> I've got some plans y'all that I hope you'll forgive me for! >:D


	26. Unnamed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Working title: Structured Misery

Faye lay on the bare floor of her room, seething and trying to steady the overwhelming buffeting of her heart. She’d forgotten her futon still tucked in the living room, but she found some comfort in a pillow she’d missed in her scramble the night before. Her gaze remained fixed on the ceiling as she attempted to bore a hole through it to see open space. A sad gurgle emitted from her stomach, but she vehemently ignored it.

_It wasn’t that Faye was scared to have to face him again. She just… wasn’t in the mood for breakfast anymore._

_She wasn’t scared of_ **_him,_ ** _the lunkhead._

_She wasn’t._

After some stubborn consideration, Faye replayed the morning in her mind, picking apart details and desperately fighting for a logical conclusion. Their faces nestled together… a sleepy reflex, surely. Similar to how his hand followed the curve of her side with ease, to bring her closer and more comfortably against his chest. A reflex.

_Spike’s fingers, subtle in their caress as they teased through her hair… His lips, just brushing her cheek, almost as if to---_

Faye ripped the pillow from behind her head and buried her burning face into its stifling embrace. She barely suppressed a scream, although with her current barriers of metal doors and the cushion over her face, she doubted anyone would hear her, anyway. Flustered feelings and a harsh tugging in her chest made her head spin as she tried to push away the thought that threatened to overwhelm her.

_He couldn’t… he doesn’t… he’s never seen her like that… it’s not… he couldn’t possibly, not after…_

Faye had overheard Spike and Jet’s conversation, the day he’d left the Bebop presumably for the last time. She knew Julia was dead. She’d felt an extraordinary mixture of emotions that she’d tried to subdue in the moment, but now they returned.

Sympathy. Anger. Grief. Guilt. All for him and his loss.

… And then something unexpected. Something ugly, that disgusted Faye even now to recall.

Grim satisfaction. And a strange, loathsome... hope.

_For what? His freedom from his past?_

Faye gripped the pillow tightly to her face, revolted by the thoughts swirling in her mind.

Spike could never let go of Julia that easily. She’d been too much a part of his heart, his life; every moment he’d spent alive, a piece of him had always been reaching out, hoping to hold her one last time. Or so Faye imagined.

After all, it’d been written all over his face when she’d confronted him, a gun to his head and misery in her heart. Faye had seen it, clear as daylight. A large part of him had died with that angel from hell, that demon fallen from heaven. And where was he now? Sleeping beside a _friend_ and curling around her form as if she could replace that embrace he longed for but could never return to...

But… he’d seen her. He’d admitted to it outright.

They were friends, and he held _her_.

Only her.

_So what was this? What was this feeling? Why did it scare her so much?_

_He couldn’t… could he?_

A sudden thought and Faye jolted upright, hugging the pillow to her chest. She scowled at the Betamax player, still situated at the foot of where her bed should be.

_Didn’t matter if he did or didn’t. Because_ **_she_ ** _certainly didn’t feel that way. She could never feel that way for such an no-good, selfish, arrogant, callous, careless, lazy excuse of a man, with his ridiculous hair and even more absurd leisure suit, all legs and long stares and breathtaking presence and no ass to speak of---_

_“Pretty girls like you shouldn’t have nightmares. It doesn’t fit.”_

A sliver of skin, peeking out from under his shirt…

_“If you_ **_want_ ** _the company… dreams are easier to handle when you’re not alone.”_

The night he’d accepted her blubbering request, wrapping her in his arms without question or hesitation...

_“Shit happens, Faye. Just… try to go back to sleep._ **_I’m here_ ** _.”_

Faye gave in to her urge and buried her face in the pillow again, letting loose a rage-induced screech.

She’d never thought about him that way before, the lunkhead. He had no right, being every other thought to encompass her mind. He had no business, being the first comfort she found every morning, the last breath she held every night…

She couldn’t… possibly…

_“Spiegel, let go of me this_ **_instant_ ** _.”_

_No… don’t let go… Just tell me what this is…_

_“Mmm. Maybe I don’t wanna.”_

_Oh no._

Faye let the cushion fall weakly from her fingertips, wishing that she had the strength to turn off the light and let the darkness swallow her whole. Unfortunately, the reeling of her thoughts and the terrifying conclusions she was jumping to kept her firmly planted on the floor, unable to trust her trembling knees to support her. 

It was just a game. It _had_ to be. They’d been playing this game for as long as they’d known each other. It had shifted and changed; originally all bark and bite and banter, it had eased into playful pestering and teasing eased by familiarity and fondness. Holding each other to keep from shivering alone in the dark had been unexpected, but she’d separated it from the game, because it was welcome and warm and… safe.

But the game had tainted even that stillness, that peace that she’d _finally_ been able to find with him.

Faye’d enjoyed the game; she liked to win and see that stupid smile wiped off his face from time to time. Sure, she’d lost her fair share of gambles, and his knowing looks always sent her into a fit of rage. It was familiar, and normal, and she’d missed it while he’d slept.

And now, with one foolish, reckless morning, she felt like she’d lost both.

_He couldn’t possibly think that way…_

_But what if he did?_

_… Did she want him to?_

Goosebumps shot unchecked down Faye’s arms. A warm buzzing filled her chest, too loud and too eager to ignore. She fought to control it, to halt it in its tracks for the time being.

Before it grew too far… she had to know, first.

She had to know.

Faye struggled to her feet, taking a few deep breaths to try and steady her racing heart. Slowly, she schooled her gaze and pursed her lips, terrified resolve building as she pulled open her door and shuffled timidly down the hall.

_She had to know._

…………………………………………….

Spike lay on the floor of the bridge, limbs splayed out and his fourth cigarette held loosely in his lips. No amount of glaring made a dent in the ceiling, but that didn’t stop him from trying to plunge daggers into the stubborn metal. Outwardly, he looked calm and collected, simply lounging the afternoon away on the bridge. Inwardly, however...

The burying was not going well.

Spike forced a slow, deep inhale, his frustration building as he failed to subdue the events of that morning from rising once again to mind. 

_She’d already been awake. He wasn’t sure how long, but Faye had already been awake before he roused. She’d_ **_never_ ** _been awake first. He’d practically made an art of it, before today, how he’d been able to keep his heartbeat steady and his mind curious every morning that she’d risen and pretended to ignore how close they were. How close they were_ **_every_ ** _morning._

As he mused, Spike’s hands slowly curled into fists.

_Was she just toying with him? There’s no way she_ **_actually_ ** _meant any of the things she said. Or… the things she didn’t. Actions speak a helluva lot louder than words._

Faye’s movements had carried practiced grace, slow and steady and tempting with every rising motion. The way she’d caressed his chest, _just_ enough to lift an involuntary reaction from him. Her smile, coy and teasing as she felt him stiffening against his own better judgement. Spike’d played the game right back, gotten in her face and issued a challenge. He’d hoped to leave her speechless, to get her stuttering and release the whole of the tension, but instead...

_“_ **_Now_ ** _who’s seducing who?”_

At that moment… he’d wanted to. He’d wanted to clear that absurd haze from her eyes, to play the game to the ending result. The final move to play, to get her back for her tender gaze and playful fingertips...

Spike folded his arms roughly over his chest, releasing an embittered cloud of smoke.

_The feeling was fighting back with a vengeance, and now it was joined by things he’d been fighting for the past two months. Two additional feelings that he blatantly refused to name._

One was a steady downpour, beating faster and heavier the more he dwelt on it. It was a weighted blanket without the warmth, encompassing only his heart with the threat of drowning him.

The other was sharper and ruthless, pointed nails and heartless icicles that struck violently without warning. Even as the pain would recede, however, Spike found himself reaching for it, out of desperation to feel the light that was their source, their unmistakable origin.

The light… the lighthouse.

\----

"I'll be waiting at the graveyard. _By_ the graves, not in them."

"Spike… I can't come with you."

_"Yes you can._ We'll leave here. We'll get out of this. _"_

"... and go where? And do what?"

"Live. Be free. It'll be like watching a dream."

The look she gave him… he could never quite decipher it, even now. It was burned into his memory but he’d never been able to name all the emotions lingering just behind her gaze. There was hope in the soft breathlessness of her exhale, but it never reached her eyes. Now, with years of hardship and heartache between them, he finally understood.

She’d already made her decision.

\----

Spike’s left eye burned as he plucked another cigarette from his pack and wrestled to light it with trembling fingers. He inhaled deep, retaining the smoke in a breath he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to release, because it might release more than just air. The dams were buckling, and it took every ounce of his control to keep them from crumbling altogether.

He didn’t need this. He didn’t _want_ this. He just wanted to drift again, as far away from his heart as he could manage.

It was the two unnamed feelings jostling for position that were making him so angry. The contempt he felt for himself was nothing new; he’d been stewing in that mess long before his decision to leave the syndicate. No, this was… structured misery. A series of halls and spontaneous decisions connecting him to a broken past and now a wretched, disappointing present.

\----

He’d chased after her, even when all she was in his memory was raindrops and rose petals and empty dreams. Yet he persisted, in a desperate run to regain that high. The high of finding _the part of him he’d lost somewhere along the way. The part of him he’d been missing, that he’d been longing for._

They'd been after her. They'd been trying to kill her, just by association to their collective pasts.

That's what Spike was. An association, a scar, a curse. _A dream._

Nevertheless, he'd waited and he'd chased and he'd searched. She’d held a gun to his chest. 

She’d stayed when he was determined to fight. _"Then I'll stay, too. I'll be with you, until the end."_

Had that all he’d been to her? The power and desire for someone who wanted to keep fighting? 

Spike was so tired of _fighting_. 

\----

Footsteps echoed up the stairwell, heavy with purpose.

Spike knew they were hers. He’d fallen asleep dozens of times to the memory of the sound.

Wordlessly, Faye joined him, sitting just over an arm's length away. Just out of reach.

“So she emerges from hiding,” he grunted.

She kept her back to him, training her eyes instead on the passing ships and the steady rocking of the water. Spike studied her shoulders, how they seemed to droop under an invisible, suffocating weight. Yet Faye remained, and gradually her shoulders eased upright, as if she was steeling her own nerves. Finally, she sighed.

“What was that, this morning?” Faye asked, hugging her knees to her chest.

Spike exhaled slowly. “Dunno what you mean,” he mumbled, giving a small shrug.

He watched her tense from where he lay. Slowly, she looked over her shoulder and caught his eye. He was expecting to see a lot of things in those eyes, but the aching weariness was not one of them.

“Spike… are you willing to have a normal, adult conversation?”

He made a face. “Mmm. Depends on your definitions of normal, adult, and conversation.”

She glared at him. “You’re impossible.”

“And _you’re_ uptight.”

Faye stood abruptly. “Alright,” she hissed, crossing her arms tersely and turning to leave, “I _was_ going to try this now but apparently, you’re still insisting on being an asshole.”

“What do you want from me, Faye?”

She stopped, her back still towards him. “An apology.”  
  


He snorted. “For what?”  
  


“For making me think... for… for being an asshole this morning. That wasn’t funny.”

Spike's eyes shifted back towards the ceiling, the knot in his stomach growing uncomfortably tight. “What did I make you think?” he murmured, slow and purposeful.

Faye's hands curled into fists. She said nothing.

“Don’t play stupid, Faye; it’s not a good look on you.”

Bitterness hung heavy in her eyes when she looked down at him. “You made me think for an instant that you had a _heart_ ,” she spat. Something flickered briefly across her face. Betrayal. Loneliness. 

_All he had to do was push._

Spike huffed, feeling a touch of heat rise in his cheeks. “Now what have I _ever_ done to give you that impression?”

“Fine then,” she snapped, “I’m tired of fishing for emotional depth from you. Until you’re willing to take me seriously and _talk_ to me, and I mean _really_ talk, not just more shitty poetry, you can fucking sleep in your own bed, by yourself, from now on. Have fun with your _dreams_.”

Spike watched silently as she stormed out of sight. The butterflies had turned to wasps, zooming angrily in his stomach. 

He’d finally succeeded. He’d pushed too far.

Something glinting on his fingers caught his eye as he plucked the cigarette absently from his teeth.

_Jewel of the Heart. That shitting green nail polish again._

_… Emerald, to be precise._

Spike sat up and began scratching irritably at his fingernails, grinding his teeth against the bitterness and shame looming over his head. He should have known, the world always showed people’s true colors in the daylight.

_He’d pushed too far. It was necessary to bury this feeling._

_And he was miserable for it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...... I'm gonna be honest, I'm completely drained after writing this one. I knew it was coming, and still I am Exhausted. I hope you'll forgive me if it takes a couple more days to get more chapters out, bc these two have been beating the shit out of me and I might need to take a breather.
> 
> ...... I probably won't but like let's Pretend that I will and I'll just thank you for your patience in advance.
> 
> This was a rough chapter; I do apologize slightly for not having an immediate lighter follow up. I'mma just go reread the flirty chapters now to make myself feel better.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! And I hate to do it, but I am curious; if I were to set up a Patreon or one of those "buy me a coffee" things, how many people would be interested? I'm still looking for work right now and while this fic has been a solid grounding/ distraction, it isn't exactly paying the bills. I know money's tight but I figured I'd ask and see if there's any bonus content I could work up to make up for all the sadness


	27. Athazagoraphobia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faye falls back on a time-honored tradition to escape her frustration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References made within this chapter to Episode 24: "Hard Luck Woman" and Session XX, or "Mish Mash Blues," the lost Bebop episode. More thoughts in notes at the end.
> 
> Also, I've made a Buy Me a Coffee account, since a couple readers showed interest! I'm completely honored, I cannot express that enough. I'm uncertain of how I would approach artwork commissions, but if that's something people would be interested in, I think I might like to give it a try!
> 
> https://www.buymeacoffee.com/MoiraLathal

Faye stormed into the hangar, punching open the airlock with as much force as she could manage without actually breaking the controls. The open air and warm sunlight rushing in should have been calming, should have set her pulsing nerves at ease, but it only made her more angry. The world had no right to be so good, so bright when she was so angry and he _refused_ to cooperate.

Well, that was his decision. She wasn’t going to force him to open up and be honest. They were both too stubborn for that kind of fight. Besides, she was tired of fighting him. Tired of the uncertainty and comfort and pain and _everything_ surrounding this man and this ship and this life. Faye had to leave, had to go away for a while and collect herself. _That_ was what she needed: a distraction.

So she did the one thing she knew to do, the _one_ thing she could always fall back on to keep from losing her mind on this god-forsaken ship.

Faye went to the races.

\----

There was something about the chase, the atmosphere that thrilled her, that wholly captivated her senses. It was a relief to have it be just her and ten, a hundred, a thousand strangers, sharing nothing and everything for a moment of excitement and anticipation. Faye felt _real_ in this place, alive and tangible, in control of her own choices, her own luck, her own destiny. 

The screen flashed with bright colors and tempting names of the different ponies up to race. One caught her eye, a bay thoroughbred mare. The betting machine displayed a brief clip of a previous race. Her glossy coat rippled under the stadium lights, every muscle straining as she fought for the finish line. Fay glanced at the name.

_“This Horse Is Profoundly Unhinged.”_

Racing horses always held pretty eccentric names; after all, no two could carry the same title. Still, the name almost felt a little _too_ on the nose.

Almost, but not enough to deter Faye’s instincts.

There was something about the look in the mare’s eye, a strong recklessness that still held enough determination and tenacity to win. This _was_ a winning horse, she could _feel_ it. Faye smirked, her finger hovering over the confirm entry button as her confidence flared.

She’d always been able to trust her instincts.

_Trust…_

\----

_Spike’s face flickered to life on the console of her ship._

_"Where are you."_

_A demand, not a question._

_"What do_ **_you_ ** _want?"_

_"I'm heading out to the city if Tharsis, I want you to meet me there "_

_"Why should I?"_

_"Well it's hard for Jet to get around by himself with his leg all shot up. So quit wasting time and get your ass back to the ship."_

_"What makes you think I'm coming back?? You take too much for granted, I have my own place to go back to."_

_That was before she knew Ed and Ein had left. That they really_ **_were_ ** _adrift without her. She'd grumbled, not thinking too deeply about the look on his face._

_That look… how his eyes pierced just a little deeper, how his mouth hung slack and his words bit just a little too sharply._

_No more partners to turn to, so he turned to her._

_Had it been a plea, assurance or reliance rather than irritation that had driven him to her?_

**_Trust?_ **

\----

Faye shook away the memory. _Trust was for suckers_. She’d trusted before, and it hadn’t ended well. Whitney… he might’ve felt something for her, but he’d also played her like a fiddle. She wasn’t going to be played like that again.

After a moment’s hesitation, she switched her bet. _Moulin Rouge is Still in Vogue._

A good, rich sounding name. Faye was looking for cash, not trust.

Faye loved the races. They were a dependable _thrill_ , the rise and energy of not knowing if you would win, and being all right with a loss, because there was always another race, another gamble, another day to win.

Faye didn’t mind losing, but she certainly enjoyed winning more. Maybe that’s why she liked the casinos just as much, if not more than the ponies. It was child’s play, swindeling men of their time, money, and attention, and losing nothing herself. Faye knew the game like the back of her hand. It was maximum payoff with limited risk. She had no need and no reason to expect anything from anyone but herself. Relying on others was a waste of time and a waste of energy. It was _her_ time, after all, and she wouldn’t let herself be consumed by someone else’s life.

Someone else’s life…

Faye gazed around the observation room, absently taking in the shouting faces and excited bodies surrounding her. Each one had its own story, its own path, its own place to return to. Its own _life_. She snorted, returning the screen. 

_What did she have? The ruins of a beautiful house for a beautiful couple with a beautiful, ambitiously hopeful daughter. The daughter that lived a lifetime and a half beyond her parents through a miracle of science and sheer luck. A daughter reeling, drifting through space on the first ship that looked interesting enough to hitch a ride with._

Teaming up with Spike and Jet had never been in her plans. She hadn’t even thought of it as a team up, really. Not at first. They were simply an easy ride; all men were. There was something about them, though, that had nevertheless drawn her to them. A thrill, the danger of not _quite_ knowing what would happen next, but just enough sense that they’d think on their feet and somehow manage to land on top. 

Faye smirked slightly to herself. Even now, when she couldn’t stand the sight of them, she couldn’t stop herself from admitting how much she admired them. Those lunkheads, practically opposites in every way, managing to team up for _three years_ before they were graced with her presence. She’d wondered at first how they’d managed not to kill each other for so long, but after her own length of time fighting by their sides, Faye understood the reason.

Trust. Unbroken, unwavering trust. Sure, they fought. There was anger, and conflict, and a heaping amount of arrogant testosterone-fueled stubbornness, but they trusted when it counted.

Faye had inadvertently come to appreciate that trust. To… rely on it.

She waved away the thought inwardly, trying her best to focus on the race, but it persisted. A bitterness rose in her mouth as their faces flashed through her mind. She didn’t _need_ to rely on them; she didn’t _want_ to rely on anyone but herself. It only caused heartache and frustration. Whitney was proof enough of that. That _morning_ was proof enough of that.

The buzzer rung abruptly above her head, drawing her back to the results.

_“This Horse is Profoundly Unhinged,” an unquestionable win._

_"Moulin Rouge is Still in Vogue," apparently not as in vogue as she’d hoped, coming in dead last._

A losing horse, after all.

  
Faye groaned, running a hand absently through her hair. _Bust, again. Whatever, there’s always a next round._

She turned towards the betting slots, itching already for the next round, when something flashing caught her eye. Someone’s communicator, with a tiny face alight on the screen...

\----

_Spike’s face again, cross and sullen and so fucking lonely…_

_Trusting her to come back. To come_ **_home_ **.

\----

The memory stung. She hated how _much_ it stung.

Faye held shaking fists at her sides, her thoughtlessly bitten lower lip trembling. She glared at a passing gambler, only to stop short when she saw her own face reflected in his sunglasses. Scowling, she scrubbed frantically at her eyes and shoved past him, ignoring the bewildered and angry curses he threw at her.

_Why had he bothered? They took so much for granted,_ **_all_ ** _of them. With their trust and camaraderie and reckless abandon, they took for granted what they had, and relied too heavily on others to provide for what they didn’t._

**Don’t rely on others and do things yourself.** _That is the lesson._

_They took_ ** _everything_** _for granted, including her, and only sought her out when she was gone._ _Typical fools. She’d had enough of them, then._

No… she’d been gone for good that time…

_Why_ **_had_ ** _she returned?_

_Because… they_ **_were_ ** _home._

Faye locked the door of the bathroom stall, sinking heavily onto the seat as the tears finally won their battle with her pride.

_It wasn’t fair, any of it. Faye’s half-empty card, the soreness in her feet, her broken heart and confused thought spirals. She’d remembered most of her past by now, but it was still strange, relearning fragments of her life and feeling… detached from them. Othered and lonesome. She remembered her parents, their unwavering support of her ambitions and gentle direction when she made mistakes._

_Lives she had loved and valued above her own, snuffed out in a single, terrible, unapologetic moment._

_Whitney, the third person she’d ever met in her new life, strong jaw and sympathetic eyes, the vision of a hopeless romantic that swept her up when she could barely be considered an adult. A prince charming, to wake her from her sleep and give her new purpose, new life._

Faye grimaced, burying her palms in her eyes.

_Never set your purpose on another soul. They’ll only disappoint and betray you. They’ll never meet your expectations, and they’ll abandon you to the curb before you even know you’ve been pushed._

**Don’t rely on others and do things yourself.** _That is the lesson._

_She’d awoken to a pastless life. She’d arisen to an empty future. When she met the boys of the Bebop, they were just another tool, another stepping stone in her path of relearning herself._

_And the bastards had the_ **_audacity_ ** _, the presumptuous, big-headed arrogance to become… her_ **_home_ ** _. To actually seek her out, and save her on multiple occasions, without her asking, without her_ **_needing_ ** _them._

**Don’t rely on others and do things yourself.**

_Apparently, they’d never gotten the message._

_She’d taken what little money they had and left them stranded in space. Yet Jet still found and released her on Callisto._

_She’d gotten in too deep on the SCRATCH hunt, and barely managed to… say goodbye. She’d passed out, with the sliver of a thought that she might never wake up again. And then she did, to Spike waiting with a cigarette and a smile._

_She kept running and… they just kept fucking coming after her._

_Why? They didn’t need her, not really. They’d been getting along just fine without her, if a bit unbelievably._

_… Why did she keep running?_

_Why was she here again, away from home?_

The door to the restroom creaked open, and Faye clapped a trembling hand over her mouth, trying to stifle any sound of her misery.

_It wasn’t that she didn’t care about them; she did and she knew it. Even Ed and Ein… fuck,_ **_she’d_ ** _told Ed to leave, to find where she belonged, but… it was_ **_Faye_ ** _who had to realize where she belonged. And she had._

_Faye belonged on the Bebop, with that crazy kid and the stupid dog, the ridiculous, hard-headed captain and a lazy, lonely-ass cowboy._

Her hand shook as she pulled her communicator from her pocket.

No call.

… Why did she care? Why should she be waiting for a call?

_… Because she_ **_did_ ** _rely on them. They had her back, whether or not she wanted it._

_But who was she_ **_beyond_ ** _them, then?_

Faye searched herself, searched for any semblance of a purpose, a drive, something she had beyond them. Gambling… cards… the thrill of the con, the coercion… she liked to _read_ …

Nothing tangible. Nothing solid or permanent.

She had no legacy. No impact on the world.

With a start, Faye shuddered upright, sudden resolve striking a new, strange cord in her chest.

_Well damn it, if she hadn’t made anything until this point… it was better to start now than never._

Faye scrambled from the restroom, ignoring more shouts and confusion as she pushed her way through the crowd and out of the racing stadium. On the sidewalk, she paused, frantically searching until she spotted her prize.

A motel, corner of the street a block down. She hurried towards it, pleading with the fates that it would have what she needed. What she wanted could easily be acquired at the Bebop, but she wasn’t ready to return. Not yet.

The sign-in process was graciously short; she managed to earn a discount with a wink and a suggestive nod to the blubbering clerk. He showed her to her room, prowling eyes and trembling arms giving away his eagerness.

It was too easy.

When they arrived, Faye slammed the door in his face and locked the door. After a moment’s hesitation, she pulled the chair from the meager desk, propping it under the door handle to discourage any further distraction. 

The motel room was cramped and shabby, nowhere close to her standards, but she wasn’t planning on doing much in this room. Just one thing.

A whole lot of thinking.

Thankfully, the desk _did_ prove to be useful. In a side drawer, she pulled some stationary and a pen. Not an ideal amount, enough to take some quick notes but not enough to be worth stealing; Faye’d expected as much from just one look of the crummy motel. Nevertheless, it was what she needed.

With a deep breath, she settled on the stiff bed and held the pen thoughtfully, hovering just above the first blank page. It was exhilarating, not knowing what she wanted.

But she was determined to find it.

  
She was going to _make_ something. Something worth remembering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Don't rely on others and do things yourself" is the mantra I pulled from Session XX.
> 
> I have spent the past several days analyzing and re-analyzing characters and let me tell you... I have come to some conclusions. They are good ones, don't get me wrong, but they are conclusions that have my brain melting from the time I've spent thinking about them. This was actually partially instigated by the most perplexing comment I've ever received, and honestly I'm grateful to it.
> 
> This story, along with Cowboy Bebop, is very much a story about the group as a whole, but its main focus is Spike Spiegel. In my initial surge to get him to process shit and have them all be one big happy family, I admit to neglecting the drives and purposes of the other characters a little bit, because that's not really what this story is about.
> 
> Or... so I thought. I have since grown in mind and perspective, and Return to Me, Space Cowboy is about Them. Together, and separately. I want Faye to be a full person, not just a catalyst for His healing. So I'm taking the time now to delve into that. I think I was on the verge of that, and was able to subconsciously start that with the stuff she feels in Chapter 10 (Will This Make You Happy?), but this chapter is really about Faye doing that searching.
> 
> I might just... fuckin have to do an essay about this and put it on tumblr at one point bc I have So Many Thoughts. I sincerely doubt any of them are NEW, per se (it's been over 20 years for goodness sake) but like... still. I like the thinking train I've been on. 
> 
> Holy shit I'm tired tho. These people. THIS SHOW. Cowboy Bebop is intense and visceral emotional depth disguised by "ooh guns and ships and SPACE!!!"
> 
> I love it so much.
> 
> P.s. hope the title isn't too on the nose, but I couldn't think of anything else :P might change it later, who knows


	28. Buried in Ice

The Redtail’s smoke trail took its time dissipating into the wind. Spike had watched her shoot away across the water, the icy grip on his heart only growing colder. She was doing it again: racing off in her fury just to have them chase her down and bring her home.

Well, _he_ wasn’t going to do it.

He was done chasing dreams.

And she _wasn’t_ a dream he wanted to chase…

Spike pushed himself upright, stuffing his pack roughly into his pocket. The bay they were docked in glittered in the early afternoon light, but the bright, cheery day served nothing more than to further sour his mood. Several fishing trawlers drifted past, their crews waving and striking up animated conversation. With a grunt, Spike turned to leave the frustratingly chipper scene behind, only to be met with the equally unwelcome sight and sound of someone approaching.

Jet studied him silently as he climbed the stairs to the bridge. Spike met his gaze, eyes hooded enough to hide his own growing irritation. After a beat, Jet grunted and passed him to stare out across the water.

“Have you seen Faye? She wasn’t in her room and never came to breakfast---”

“Ran off again,” Spike cut in, unable to keep the venom from his tone.

He clenched his fist at Jet’s reactionary sigh. “Spike… what the _hell_ is up with you two?”

“Haven’t a clue what you could mean, Jet.”

“... Did you at least _try_ to talk to---”

“I’ve done a _helluva_ lot of talking recently,” Spike spat, tapping a rail sharply. “Gettin’ real sick of it, if I’m honest.”

“Spike---”

“Leave it, Jet. Stop trying to make something your business when it’s not.”

With that, Spike stalked out of the bridge, leaving Jet in awkward, stony silence.

\----

The door to Spike’s room no sooner slid shut before he shot a rage-induced kick at the wall. He bit back a cry, sagging to the floor as he cradled his throbbing foot. 

_Just another thing to add to his long list of fuck-ups._

With a hiss, he laid back, the corners of his vision blurring as resentment boiled over in his chest.

_They kept fucking coming back with their_ **_concern_ ** _and their_ **_questions_ ** _. It just wasn’t enough that he was alive; no, they had to keep forcing conversations as if_ **_that_ ** _would save his soul._

His soul was lost a long time ago, down some darkened alleyway when his choices, it had been decided, were no longer his own.

His choices… what choices had he _ever_ had?

He’d made _one_ decision, fully and completely independently, to take his life back for himself. And he’d asked the source of his strange, exhilarating new desires to come with him…

Julia.

From the first moment he laid eyes on her, he knew. It was the first moment he’d ever known the true meaning of the word innocence. Not in the way civilians or ISSP officers determined innocence, with outward appearances and social nuance. The syndicate had no use for the word, so it couldn’t be that, either.

No, this innocence was a flash of light, a stolen breath in the darkness, a heartbeat growing stronger with every blink of his eyes. The innocence of a young man, seeing a woman’s eyes before anything else about her began to register. Her eyes were sapphires; the deepest blue, without the harsh salt of ocean waves, but not quite as gentle as the lakes of Ganymede. Blue eyes, jewels of promise and distant starlight, except these stars were close enough to touch, to hold, to _feel._

He knew he was lost the moment he fell into those eyes. Her touch, her presence, her life in his arms, giving _him_ new life he’d never realized he’d lost. Something arose in her embrace, something wild and solid and purposeful, real and _whole_ in his being. It was the first innocence he’d ever known.

An innocent peacefulness... not unlike the kid he’d seen on that old Betamax tape. That shitty little teenager, with her unbroken bonds and schooltime friends and hopeful smile.

Spike frowned.

_Nothing could have been a more polar opposite to his childhood. If you could call it that._

Maybe that was it. Maybe they were just too distant, too different for him to fully accept the flickering in his heart that he’d let settle, deep in his chest, the fluttering and the buzzing and the warm feeling. 

Too warm. It was beginning to burn.

Spike could practically visualize the pillar of ice forming around his heart.

He... _couldn’t_ like Faye. She was too much of a pain in the ass. She poked too much into his business, always a hypocrite, a liar, and a greedy bitch who…

Who apparently spent over a month waiting for him to wake up. 

A heartless woman who caught him and helped him down the stairs, with a steady gaze and a firm hand.

A woman of no integrity who let him go, even though she knew he could very well be going to his death. Who let him go to finish what he needed, and then... single-handedly pulled him out of the wreckage of his past. A woman who had taken him by the hand and _taught him to breathe again._

_Just another ship, drifting in the distance. Just out of reach._

_A ship… who kept chasing him._

The structure of her nighttime wanderings had not escaped him. Even when Faye didn’t speak to him, he’d known when she was up and restless; she wasn’t the sneakiest at the best of times, and even then, Spike was ex-syndicate. Not a damn soul should be able to sneak up on him.

He’d spent countless nights, unconsciously listening to see if she was approaching. He didn’t care either way if she stayed, or if she came at all, but… the nights she stayed felt a little calmer. A little lighter. A little… warmer.

The ice was cracking. 

Spike shuffled to his bedside, digging in the trunk at the foot for his hideaway, the one secret he’d managed to keep, even after death and rebirth. Not much of a secret, since Jet had already seen the bottles mysteriously appear, yet he’d chosen in the past not to comment. Why should he, now?

Everyone had their ways of coping with the threat of the job. Everyone had their hooks, their own ways of manipulating nature to their advantage. Jet tended bonsai, an illusion of control and harmony in the utter chaos and unpredictability of space. Faye splurged on clothes and trinkets and the ponies, losing herself in the thrill or the high of something new.

Spike’s needs were a lot more simple and straightforward. He knew what he needed.

A simple refreshment. Neat. Straight from the bottle.

He had to pace himself. He wasn’t sure how long it would take, but eventually the throbbing would fade, and the ice would solidify, permanently.

He _had_ to bury the feeling.

It was… necessary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *spends a week and a half staring at notes and outlines*  
> they were..... they were doing so well....... why...... why, self.....  
> I hope you can forgive me, but I've got several cards still to play in this particular conflict, so I hope you'll stand the angst for just a bit longer. It's necessary for this story to become what I want it (and desperately need it) to become.
> 
> Thanks as always for reading, and just a reminder I've made a Buy Me A Coffee account for those who were wondering! I'm already so honored by those donations I've received, it's truly bizarre and wonderful to know y'all like this story That Much?? Really it's my honor to share this vision with you all 
> 
> Here's a follow up to it, tho; would anyone be interested in commissions? Tbh I think I'd only be confident enough to draw specific scenes from this fic BUT.... if... you know if you Want that, like.... bruh I would not mind at all :P let me know your thoughts!


	29. The Blood of a Beast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Episode 5, "Ballad of Fallen Angels," is referenced very directly in this chapter; I'd highly recommend rewatching it before reading this chapter.

This was not the first calculated bender of Spike’s long and arduous career. He knew the steps to make it last. With little difficulty, he managed to avoid most, if not all contact with his fellow crewmates. His solitude was interrupted only briefly when the calculated journeys for water and relief urged him beyond his own door. Ed and Ein passed by once or twice, racing or clumping through the halls for whatever reason, and neither paused to address him. Spike preferred it that way; less interruption made it easier to maintain the task at hand.

Jet remained out of sight for the whole of the day. Another relief. Spike didn’t want to talk again. Didn’t need it, didn’t _want_ it.

Faye didn’t return that night. The lack of insistent clip-clopping indicating her return was all the proof needed for Spike’s alcohol-riddled mind to come to that conclusion. Not that he cared.

Another swig. Another blur in his timeline.

Spike sagged onto his bed, his focus dimming sometime in the early hours of the morning. His body’s craving for sleep fought a stubborn battle with his will to stay awake and absent. Thoughts would drift by, dwelling at the edges of his vision and threatening to break through his barriers, but he’d just take another drink, the burn wiping his mind mercifully clean.

It wasn’t a clear transition, when his room faded and he fell into an involuntary, fitful doze…

\----

_Twilight. Just darkening, the cobblestone streets echoed with his footsteps. The trap was set in a cathedral, long since abandoned and in the first stages of crumbling, yet not enough to conceal the history and delicate care that went into its structure. Dim light still trickled in through the haunting stained glass windows, flooding the chapel hall in eerie, almost angelic light._

_The poetry of the visual was not lost on Spike; Vicious always did have a flair for the dramatic._

_What an asshole._

_“When angels are forced out of heaven, they become devils. You agree, don’t you, Spike?”_

_He actually came._

**_Good._ **

_Spike smirked. “I’m just watching a bad dream I can never wake up from.”_

_“_ **_I’ll_ ** _wake you up right now.”_

_“What’s your rush, Vicious? After all, it’s been a long time.” A long time? Years can feel like seconds in the right circumstances._

_A soft, mirthless chuckle. “Are you pleading for your life?”_

_“Hardly; begging doesn’t work on you, remember? Even if it’s coming from the man who took you in and made you what you are.”_

_“Perhaps, but he was a beast who lost his fangs. That’s why he had to die, Spike. And that’s why_ **_you_ ** _have to die.”_

_There it was. The singular reason they were both there._

_Singular… well---_

_A rustle to his left. Without hesitation, Spike’s weapon was in his hands, trained with deadly accuracy on a brute with blonde hair and merciless eyes. The syndicate enforcer held a gun to Faye’s head, but she looked more annoyed than afraid._

_The man was speaking to him, but Spike wasn’t listening. He was taking aim. It was almost too easy a shot…_

**_BANG!_ **

_A gunshot. Spike’s weapon, he knew; after all, he’d pulled the trigger._

_But the memory was wrong._

_The enforcer stood, bewilderment plastered on his face._

_He was alive. But… then… who…?_

_Blood trickled down Faye’s forehead. Her face was frozen in shock, even as the color faded from her eyes…_

**_NO._ **

_\----_

_“You should see yourself. You have any idea what you look like at this moment, Spike?”_

_“What?” He managed a cocky grin, even as he felt the blood seeping from his bullet wound dragging his already waning stamina with it._

_“A ravenous beast. The same blood runs through both of us. The blood of a beast who wanders, hunting for the blood of others.”_

_“I’ve bled all that kind of blood away.” It was the truth._ **_It was the truth._ **

_“Then why are you still_ **_ALIVE_ ** _?!”_

_The crack of a gunshot. Sharp, searing, agony as the katana slid through his coat, his shirt, his flesh. Spike could already feel himself going blind from the pain, but Vicious’s hand mercilessly gripping his face blocked out any last light he could have hoped to see in this final moment. It was a feeble scramble but he managed a parting gift, his finger curling around the pin as he tossed the last of his grenades under Vicious’ arm._

_An explosive shattering, thousands of tiny slices destroying his skin and then he was falling, falling through the air to his death. Colored glass rained past his eyes, turning in slow motion to reveal his own face as he drifted towards his doom._

_His own face, his life, and her, flashing before his eyes as he fell…_

_Cold, merciless eyes reflected back at him…_

_White hair, and the sneer of a man who would never be satisfied..._

_Spike raised his hands enough to see them as he fell… Black sleeves and pale skin, skin too pale to be his own… or maybe it was his all along..._

_“The same blood runs through both of us.”_

_No, he wasn’t---_

_“The blood of a beast who wanders, hunting for the blood of others.”_

_Not fucking anymore, he wasn’t---_

_The betrayal in Jet’s eyes as he settled nimbly into the cockpit of the Swordfish II._

_“That’s it! You’ve_ **_really_ ** _gone too far! Then don’t come back; there won’t be a place for you.”_

_Emerald eyes, fading into darkness… he’d pulled the trigger, but…_

**_NO THAT’S NOT WHAT HAPPENED---_ **

\----

Reawakening in a cold sweat was no new experience to Spike. It was the disorientating blurriness, the unthinkable that he had to scrub and blink away before he could see again. Deep gulps of semi-stale ship air did little to ease the convulsions making it hard to breathe, frenzied throbbing of his heart trying to squeeze all the moisture through his eyes. He gripped at the wall to his side, trying to steady himself, to _calm down_ , as air continued to catch in his throat.

_Why couldn’t he just fucking breathe? Just think… how…_

_In… and out…_

_In… and out…_

_“You can do it, Spike. Just breathe with me. Listen to my voice. In… and out…”_

Even as Spike regained his clarity to the memory of her words, Faye’s voice felt like knives raking his chest. 

Once the dim clutter of his room came enough into focus, he struggled to his feet, catching himself on the door as the walls began to spin. It was a minor struggle, not ripping off the door handle, but he eventually succeeded in stumbling out into the hall and making the numb track to the toilet.

Spike wasn’t sure how long the round trip took, because it felt like only seconds before he found himself suddenly in the hall again, hesitating in front of a doorway he knew wasn’t his own. 

“Mmm, Spike stinkyyyy like whiskeeey.”

The bounty hunter wobbled as he glanced downward. Ed lay sprawled in the middle of the hall, blinking thickly up at him. She rolled away, curling her knees under herself to sit slightly upright. With a yawn, she blinked again and tilted her head listlessly. “Spike was in his room _all_ day. Is that why he’s so stinky?” 

Spike waved her away as he staggered back towards his room. “S’none of y'r business,” he said, fighting to control the roll of his tongue. 

“What happened to the Spike-person’s smile?”

Spike stumbled, barely catching himself on the wall. Fingers curled against metal as he fought to keep his eyes forward. Behind him, he listened as Ed scrambled to her feet. She wandered into his line of sight, her head careening to and fro in an attempt to catch his eye. Spike tried to move, tried to force his legs to cooperate, but he was rooted to the floor, the question drilling its way into his subconscious. He finally managed a furtive glance, a dirty enough look to hopefully drive her away. But Ed merely stared back, a rare expression of discouragement creasing her forehead.

“What happened to the Spike-person’s smile?” she whispered again, the frown deepening.

Spike snapped his gaze forward, shaking fists burrowing deep into his pockets. _“Doesn’t fucking matter,”_ he murmured.

Regaining control of his feet, Spike elbowed roughly past her, closing his eyes against the small intake of breath as he pushed himself further and further down the hall. 

_One last bridge he didn’t even know he needed to burn. Great._

_He needed another drink._

…………………………………………….

Ein blinked thickly as he traipsed down the hall an hour or so after sunrise. The crew were not exactly early risers, but there always managed to be _some_ one around to feed him at this hour. All he had to do was look. If no one happened to be about, they would be soon.

A familiar, kind figure stood frozen at the end of the rotating hall, just outside the last human’s door. Spike’s door. Ein snuffed, rubbing against Ed’s leg in greeting. When she didn’t respond, he gave her an experimental lick, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of her face.

Alarm spread like wildfire through his small body as he witnessed big, globby tears streaming down her face. Ein whined as he hopped, frantically bumping at her hand to get her attention.

_Not again_.

Eventually, Ed blinked hard and sunk to her knees, finally allowing Ein access to lick her face. She frowned, brows furrowed in thought as she gave Ein’s ears an absent scratch.

“He had the same eyes as the father-person,” Ed whispered. “So, _so_ sad… Spike-person is angry, too, but… he is mostly sad.”

Ein curled against her chest, flattening his ears with a sad huff. They sat in silence, gazing up at the barrier only just muffling the sounds of liquid swirling and short, faltering breaths.

Suddenly, Ed struggled from underneath Ein and crossed her arms at the closed door. The corgi stared up at her, noting the conviction growing in her eyes.

“Ed already lost father-person before he could really smile again,” she said resolutely. “Ed _won’t_ lose the Spike-person, too.”

Ed pumped a fist, looking down at Ein with a bright smile. “You stay here and guard the Spike, Ein; I’ll be back with reinforcements.”

She crouched, gazing fondly into his eyes as she gave him one last comforting pet. “It’s okay to be sad sometimes. But… smiles can’t fix everything.”

With that, she stood and strode purposefully down the hall. Ein paced in front of Spike’s door, ears keen for any new movement or indication of his attempting another departure.

_It was his job to protect them._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .................... OOF.
> 
> It took me a hot sec to figure out what nightmare Spike needed to have, but as soon as I did, the chapter practically wrote itself (thank GOODNESS). I've been Struggling through these last couple of chapters because there's some necessary shit I want to get through, but let me tell you even though it's fucking angst train central, I'm so glad I'm taking the time to do this, bc the healing will be earned and worth it.
> 
> Thanks as always for reading! We're..... we're getting there, friends. It'll be a bit but we're getting there. Thanks as always for reading!


	30. This is Gospel: Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edit 8/13: Added to Jet and Spike's moment in his room. While writing chapter 39, I looked back and found... something missing. Something I need to explore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woop. This is a long chapter. Also reader warning: unintentional self-harm in this one, not excessive but if you're sensitive to that content take care of yourself first and foremost.
> 
> Part 2: Fools Gold, from Session XX was a heavy influence for this chapter. Full monologue at end of chapter for reference. 
> 
> Also Toys in the Attic.
> 
> Also also yes the title is the fall out man's song. Don't @ me, it just fits really well.

Jet let it be. It was grating, sitting back and having to wait _again_ as Spike figured out his shit, but nevertheless he let it be. Pushing back had never truly gotten him very far in the past, and he doubted it would do any good now. The older bounty hunter hoped against hope that maybe this time, after some air and time apart, they’d work it out on their own.

Faye didn’t return that night.

Spike remained quietly in his room.

And Jet let it be.

\----

It was a rare early morning, but Jet enjoyed the peace of rousing before the day could really be considered beginning. On his ship, there was rarely a dull moment, and he treasured this calm solitude, caring for and cultivating his bonsai. He never felt _real_ solitude, in these moments of tree tending; each was unique and engaged him differently, with its own story and shape and purpose. It was their uniqueness that brought him such comfort; throughout the entirety of space and their adventures, the chaos and confusion, _these_ bonsai remained a safe haven, beings he could read and understand, yet would never dream of altering in their natural course.

That was the thing Jet appreciated most about bonsai; he might shape them, but only as they led him to be shaped. It was chance, or destiny perhaps: the unexpected and joyful unpredictability of growth and life---

_Tap tap tap._

Jet paused his pruning at a sound he’d never thought possible aboard his ship: a quiet, timid knock at his door. He sighed, pulling at the handle, expecting Faye’s sheepish face and puppy eyes begging for some extra cash. Instead, he was met with grave, firm determination, an expression no adult should have to witness on the face of a child. Ed stared up at him, the whites of her eyes tainted with strikingly red veins.

“Spike-person isn’t himself,” she murmured, arms trembling at her sides. “We have to help him.”

Jet was no father; he doubted he’d ever have the patience or understanding to completely dedicate himself to raising a human life. However, in this moment, an instinct shot through him, one he’d felt faintly before whenever Spike or Faye went missing. For them, it was incensed concern, with the semi-comforting knowledge in the back of his mind that no matter how fucked up they were, they could still protect themselves, at least until backup arrived. The instinct now dug deeper, raw and untamed, an instinct that sent worry and alarm surging through his veins.

“Ed, what happened?” 

When she didn’t immediately respond, Jet crouched slowly to her eye level, noting the slightest of flinches. 

A horrifying thought sent molten rage down his spine. _He wouldn’t fucking_ **_dare_ ** _._

“Ed, did he… did he hurt you?”

Ed blanched, shaking her head vigorously. “No, no, no! The only one Spike-person is hurting is himself.”

She grabbed at Jet’s jumpsuit, the conviction burning brighter even as tears began to pool in her eyes. “Please,” she whimpered. “He won’t smile like this. It’s okay to be sad, but… not this way.”

With as gentle a hand as he could manage, Jet pried Ed’s fingers from his suit and held her gaze, trying to convey something like comfort or confidence with only his eyes. “Alright, alright, I’ll go check on him. I… stay here, alright?”

He was surprised at how firmly Ed shook her head. “Bebop crew works _together_ ,” she insisted, the tears carving twin rivers down her cheeks. “Edward can’t get the Spike-person to smile again by herself, but she wants to _help_.”

Jet hung his head, the weight in his chest only growing heavier as he stood. “I don’t know if this is something _we_ can fix, Ed.”

Ed took his metal hand firmly, a faint smile doing its best to surface on her face. “Edward thinks it’s worth it to try.”

The Black Dog couldn’t manage any words as they shuffled down the hall. He was only slightly surprised to find Ein guarding Spike’s door, ears pulled back and what Jet could only describe as a doggy grimace tight on his features. He whimpered in greeting, keeping his eyes locked on the metal barrier. Hesitantly, Jet stepped forward and tried the handle. Locked.

_Figures_.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked a quick rhythm. There was a slight shuffling, but otherwise the room beyond remained silent.

“Spike-o? Buddy? Hey… you’ve been in there a long while, maybe it’s time to take a breather. Okay, pal?”

The shattering of glass against the door was the only response. Jet glowered, all pretense of patience instantly vanishing. _“Oh, so it’s like that, now, is it?”_

He gestured Ed to move further down the hall. She collected Ein and padded away wordlessly. Taking a deep breath, Jet drew his gun and took aim at the locking mechanism

_“This is coming out of your next cut, asshole.”_

**BANG! BANG!**

Two deafening shots and the lock shattered. Jet kept his gun at the ready as he stepped forward, slowly easing the door open. It was dark inside; irregular breathing issued from somewhere in front of him. Glass crackled beneath his feet as he took a tentative step into the room. Jet fumbled for a minute with the wall, but eventually he found the light switch, and the pathetic scene was washed in sudden and unforgiving clarity.

The room was a disaster. Clothes and belongings were scattered on every surface imaginable, most of which looking like they’d gotten the shit beaten out of them. Spike’s throwing knife was embedded in a book, its edge shimmering slightly.

The bounty hunter in question lay sprawled on his bunk, one arm guarding his eyes from the sudden light. His trunk lay open at his feet, revealing a collection of bottles, packages, and substances Jet didn’t have the energy to quickly identify, but he made a fair guess at their purposes. A couple empty bottles lay scattered around the room, one smashed beneath his feet. 

Spike breathed heavily, a half-empty bottle of whiskey held loosely in his hand as it dangled over the bunk’s edge. His fingers twitched, and it took a second for Jet to realize that they were dripping with blood. Spike groaned, rolling to face the wall. _“Go away.”_

Jet’s eyes burned red as he stared at the carnage. “Spike. I thought we'd been through this already. What the _hell_ is wrong with you?”

Spike lifted his arm enough to glare over his shoulder. _“Would you like an itemized list? Or can I just say ‘f’ck you’ and be done w’th it?”_

Jet pushed further into the room, glaring down at his friend as he pumped a fist irritably at his side. “Get up. You’re sobering. _Now._ ”

Spike rolled upright, swaying slightly as he squinted up at Jet’s face. _“F’ck off,”_ he mumbled, taking another swig of the bottle.

The older bounty hunter pulled it easily from his hand and set it on a high shelf to the side. Spike grunted, his glare turning dangerous as he struggled to his feet. _“What d’ you_ **_want_ ** _fr’m me?”_ he slurred, attempting to push forward into Jet’s space.

Jet crossed his arms, the pitiful attempt at intimidation only serving to feed his growing temper. “I want my partner to get his _act_ together,” he growled, eyeing Spike coldly.

_“Then maybe it’s time that_ **_pardnership_ ** _came to end.”_

"... You don't mean that."

Though his stance wavered, Spike's glare didn't. _"Don't I?"_

"No. Been scraping your ass off the cement long enough to say that confidently."

_"That was **before** I died, Jet." _His gaze shifted towards the doorway. _"F'ck it, w_ _hy don't we pull th' **whole** gang in here for another one of your shitty lectures? That'd br'ng back old times."_

"That's _enough_ ," Jet growled, lowering his fists slowly to his sides.

Spike hissed, a pathetic, drunk attempt at a laugh. _"No, Jet, it's **never** enough. Maybe that's the probl'm. You've just **gotta** have control over every f'ckin' thing, even when it's none of y'r business. Well, maybe this'll make y'r life a little **easier**. I'm formally relieving m'self from you as a burden, whether you like it or---"_

Jet backhanded Spike across the face, sending him crumpling to the floor; an empty bottle spun away across the room. Spike remained in a heap at Jet’s feet, moaning as the older bounty hunter stared up at the ceiling, biting back a thousand words he knew wouldn’t do any good.

Once he’d collected himself, Jet pulled Spike up to his feet and flung him over his shoulder. Spike’s head lolled, his eyelids flickering. Jet stalked out the room, dragging his friend by his side, barely registering Ed’s broken expression in the doorway. The red in his eyes faded gradually, to be replaced by the sight of blood still trickling down Spike’s fingertips.

“Ed,” Jet grumbled, glancing to the side to find her following closely behind, “get the first aid kit. Bring it to storage. Please. And… leave Spike’s room alone. There’s broken glass; no need for anyone else to get hurt.”

She scurried past him without a word, Ein still clasped in her arms. Jet made the trek to storage alone, save for the slack weight of the man over his shoulder. Spike grunted, incoherent words mumbled in a haze as he hung limply at Jet’s side.

“I know you didn’t mean that,” Jet muttered, tugging Spike’s arm roughly and adjusting to get a better grip. “I _know_ it, and I _also_ know this isn’t about me, but I still won’t forgive you so easily. Damn it Spike, what's it gonna take for you to grow up?"

Jet dumped Spike unceremoniously outside the storage room, savoring the grim satisfaction of hearing him grunt in pain only briefly. It didn't take much to prop him up against the wall; he didn't put up any resistance. Shaking his head, Jet took Spike’s hands, examining the source of the bleeding. It turned out to be many, dozens of tiny nicks surrounding his fingernails. Some of the smaller cuts had already congealed shut, but most were still fresh enough to ooze, coating his fingers in a sticky layer of blood.

_“Stupid colors… wouldn’t… c’me off…”_

Jet glanced upwards, keeping a tight grip as Spike weakly attempted to pull his hands away. “So you took a _knife_ to them?”

Spike’s eyelids fluttered open; it was impossible to ignore the torment that hung heavy in his eyes, before he sluggishly lowered his gaze. 

**_Unfortunately, we quickly forget the lessons we’ve learned, and then we have to learn them all over again._ **

Jet released Spike's fingers and wiped his hands wearily on his jumpsuit. “You just can’t make it easy for yourself, can you?”

He turned his shoulder towards approaching footsteps; Ed scampered towards him, first aid kit clutched in her arms and Ein following a few feet behind. Jet took it gratefully, setting it to the side and rummaging through for a moment. A momentary glance upwards informed him of Ed’s taking a seat on Spike’s other side, brows furrowed and lips set in a tight line. It rubbed Jet wrong how painfully serious she was. Saturating a clean cloth in antiseptic, he took Spike’s left hand and hovered a moment over the series of cuts. After a moment of thought, he looked up again.

“Ed, Ein, hold him steady.”

  
Without hesitation, Ed nodded, gripping Spike’s other wrist and placing a hand over his eyes. He struggled feebly, trying to raise his arms, but Ein bit into his coat sleeve and tugged it to the wall. Between the three of them, he was secured. Jet spent one last moment stalling, before he bit his lip and pressed the antiseptic-infused cloth onto Spike’s fingers.

Immediately, Spike cried out, but his efforts to pull away were uncoordinated and weak. He hissed as Jet continued to wipe at the wounds, his free hand clenched in a shaking fist and small tears leaking from underneath Ed’s trembling hand. Once most of the blood had been soaked up and wiped away, Jet bandaged each individual finger, resisting the urge to break them to relieve his own pent-up agitation. He moved on to the right hand and repeated the process, Ed and Ein scooting around to follow the same restraining procedure. It was not lost on Jet how much Ed’s shoulders were shaking, though she remained silent. Nor did he fail to notice how Spike faced away from her, teeth clenched and brow furrowed, even though he made no further attempt to shake off her hands.

Finally, all bloodied fingers were cleaned and wrapped, and Jet sat back on his heels with a sigh. Ed released Spike, revealing his eyes to be loosely closed and the tears half dried on his cheeks. She wiped her hands absently on his sleeve, eliciting the faintest of flinches. They stared at him for a while in silence, child and dog and bounty hunter at the loneliest of men. Spike’s eyes remained sealed, though from his breathing and the occasional hiccups it was apparent he remained conscious.

Finally, Jet gripped Spike's left wrist and held it at eye level. “Why’d you do it, Spike? What’s hurting yourself like this gonna do?”

Spike grimaced at the movement. _"It just kept f’cking reminding me..."_

“Of what?”

_“... Doesn’t m’tter.”_

"Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe it _does_ matter, and you _need_ that reminder, pal.”

Without another word, Jet hoisted Spike upright and took him over his shoulder once more. He grunted a little, as maneuvering with limp cargo never really got easier the more you did it, but he managed to pull aside the storage room’s door without losing his grip. Not bothering to be gentle, he dragged Spike through the opening, leaning him just inside the right of the door before patting down his pockets.

_Thank goodness he kept them at hand at all times._

Spike swayed slightly, blinking up at Jet as he gripped his wrist and locked the cuff in place.

_“What’re you---”_

“When Faye gets back, the two of you are gonna have a nice, _long_ chat,” Jet said, ignoring the question and locking the other cuff around the pipe shooting up the wall near the door. “I’ve had just about enough of the two of you; it’s not my business and I’m not trying to make it mine. What _is_ my business is the health of my crew and whether or not they tear themselves apart while remaining on my ship.”

Jet gripped Spike’s collar, looking him dead in his half-lidded eyes. “Whether you like it or not, we’re still partners. And _partners_ look out for each other. Take some time to think about what you’re gonna say, or don’t; I don’t care either way. But you’re not leaving this room until you fucking _wake up_ , you got it?”

He let Spike go, turning away before he let himself go too far.

_“... Jet… lemme go...”_

Jet stopped with one foot up on the doorway, but he didn’t look. He couldn’t.

“I’m done trying to convince you to think. I’m just… I’m _done._ I’m not giving up on you, but now I need _you_ to not give up on you.”

  
Jet ignored Spike’s continued calling for his name as he shut the storage room door, even as the calls got louder and more outraged. He walked silently away down the hall, shoulders slumped and hands buried in his pockets. It took him a moment to realize he still had company, as a soft pitter patter and click-clack of steps synced with his own heavy footfalls. A small arm bumped his own, just barely managing to tap his elbow from her lowered height. Jet smiled absently, lifting a hand and ruffling Ed’s hair. “He’ll be all right in there; can’t reach anything and he’s too drunk to break free easily.”

“... Edward is sad.”

Jet paused, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. He knelt, gently pulling Ed into a tight hug and feeling no small amount of ease when her arms wrapped around his sides. “Me too, kiddo. But this’ll pass… We’ve just gotta be patient.”

Ein huffed and squirmed between them; Jet dipped an arm and scooped up the corgi, pulling him into the embrace.

The three of them stayed in the hall for a while, Jet waiting patiently as the last of Ed’s tears diminished.

_Each bonsai was unique and special, with its own story and shape and purpose. It was their uniqueness that made them so valuable, so important to Jet’s own story. They may grow and change in unexpected ways, but he cared for each one. It was the chaos and confusion of their adventures, the unexpected and painful unpredictability of growth and life. Sometimes, however, bonsai can be stubborn._

_Sometimes you need to push them in the right direction._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2: Fools Gold  
> Jet: There’s a lot to bonsai. It’s not as easy as just cutting. Each bonsai has its own personality… and you have to let those live. A foolish person will try to cut anything and everything off just the same… They just cut, and cut, and cut the parts that stick out. Yet those parts that stick out are its personality… and its originality. People who can’t even figure that out, don’t have the right to hold scissors. I feel sorry for the bonsai. 
> 
> "Unfortunately, we quickly forget the lessons we’ve learned, and then we have to learn them all over again." This line was taken directly from Toys in the Attic, bc I fit so damn well.
> 
> Wtf AO3 got rid of my notes so I gotta write them again damn it. It was a spur of the moment decision to make this a multiple-parter, but considering what I know needs to happen, I'm glad I'm doing it. I'm also considering splitting off and starting this as a series instead of just one long fic, bc as I build and outline and scheme, I am finding this story to be... like, Novel lengths. Like this is my shining work at this point, the most I've ever spent delving into a group of characters and finding what makes them tick, and really I feel like I'm just getting started. I hope you'll forgive the seemingly endless amounts of angst, but in order to get back to the fluff I so desperately want to write, I felt it necessary to take them here.
> 
> My goal is healing, emotional development, and proper motivation that feels accurate to canon. I want to do these characters justice, and that takes time. I just... I just love them a lot, and I want them to be happy, but you gotta break 'em before you can make 'em, you know?
> 
> Thanks as always for reading, and again I hope you'll forgive how long this chapter is, and how damn painful. I'm gonna go stare at the wall now; chapter 31 is thoroughly outlined and nearly completed, but my heart hurts as I think about it.


	31. This is Gospel: Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "'Cause these words are knives that often leave scars  
> The fear of falling apart  
> And truth be told, I never was yours  
> The fear, the fear of falling apart"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long chapter, but wholly necessary.
> 
> I wrote most of this chapter listening to This is Gospel by Fallout Boy (if you hadn't guessed by now); if you want the true visceral experience of what that felt like, wait until Spike's section. 
> 
> An endless amount of thanks to ShadowcrestNightingale for beta-reading a portion of this chapter! I really wanted to get this one right, and her input was insanely helpful and exactly what I needed to get this chapter where I wanted it.

Faye was having an extraordinarily good morning, for having not slept much the night before. She’d been brainstorming well into the early hours in the morning, writing down as many creative outlets as she could possibly imagine. Her mind took her down rabbit hole after rabbit hole, questioning what she enjoyed and why something in particular struck her fancy.

There was no clear answer or direction for her to take, except that she needed to _make_ something. That idea alone was enough to fuel her determination to just keep thinking and _writing_ . Half a dozen pages, double sided, filled with semi-coherent ramblings and just lists of things to create. Drawing. Writing. Painting. Art and literature and sounds and sights, something to see or something to hold or something to hear. Feelings, thoughts, and emotions, brought into the physical world by _her_ hands and her singular, identifiable consciousness.

Faye awoke suddenly the sounds of honking horns and a busy street outside as the day began without her. She yawned, stretching luxuriously and blinking at the tiny room around her. With a contented sigh, she gazed down at the pages scattered on the bed. A couple had drifted to the floor in the night, and they all lay quite still, lined with hopes and dreams that she had yet to explore. Faye gathered her precious collection and folded them carefully before tucking them into her pocket. 

She decided to treat herself for breakfast; after all, the sky was clear, the streets bustled with activity, and the world stuttered and rolled with life. On her way back to the Bebop, Faye stumbled upon an old-fashioned cafe, quaint and simple and not much to look at, save for the touches of soft pastel tablecloths and metal decor for flair. She ordered to go, coffee and a lemon brioche bun, magically fresh from the oven. Faye took her time enjoying her food as she walked, eager to savor the peaceful morning sunlight.

The Bebop was quiet when she eventually strolled inside, an hour or so before noon. Faye wandered the halls, absently calling for her crewmates as she pulled the papers from her pocket. No ideas had popped out especially yet, but she figured with the help of some fresh minds, she might narrow it down to a more reasonable selection.

Finally, her search turned successful when she ducked into the living room. Jet sat hunched on the couch, staring into space absently nursing a cup of coffee. Nearby, Ed and Ein were curled on the floor, snoring the morning away and tangled in a blanket.

_“Jet, where’s Spike?”_ Faye attempted a whisper, but it came out more like an excited hiss. She was impatient to get started.

Jet set his mug down and turned to look up at her; she was stunned by the steel in his eyes. “Where the hell have _you_ been?”

“Having a glorious epiphany,” she replied, shaking the papers clutched in her hand. “Now where’s the lunkhead? I need _all_ the help I can get.”

Jet stood slowly, coffee suddenly forgotten on the table; there was undeniable tension held in his shoulders as he stuffed fists into his pockets. Faye frowned, feeling a wave of apprehension wash over her as he approached up the stairs.

“I’m glad _you’ve_ been having a good morning, at least,” he growled, crossing his arms stiffly.

Faye tilted her head, worry and confusion growing in her mind. “Jet, what---”

“Follow me. There’s something you need to see.”

Without another word, he pushed past her out and ducked through the doorway. Faye followed, utterly mystified as Jet led her down the hall, eventually stopping in front of the storage room door. She thought she saw him tilt his head, as if listening for something. After a beat, he sighed heavily, keeping his back to her. Faye thought she heard him mumble something under his breath.

“What’d you say, Jet?... Come on, talk to me; what’s _wrong_?”

“ _One_ day,” Jet grunted, angling his face slightly to the side. “It took _one day_ for the fucking peace to fall apart.”

He turned suddenly, the steel having turned molten in his eyes. “You both just _have_ to out-stubborn each other, don’t you? Why does something as simple as _R &R _ have to turn into a fight every _fucking_ time?!”

Faye raised her hands defensively, her heated conversation with Spike viscerally hitting her like a bullet train. She’d completely forgotten about it in her revelation, and now the bitter farewell was biting back. “I don’t know what he told you, but listen, it’ll be fine; we just needed time to cool off, I think, and I---”

“Oh I _wish_ he’d cooled off. Maybe some ice would have watered down the alcohol content in his blood.”

Anxious shivers ran down Faye’s spine. “Jet… where’s Spike?”

His answer was biting silence as he pulled open the door to the storage room. Faye looked between him and the darkened room, dread rising in her chest. Jet gestured inside. “Get in. You two are talking. _Now_.”

Faye didn’t move; she couldn’t. Jet’s eyes narrowed, and before she could react, he’d grabbed her arm and yanked her towards the threshold. She tried to struggle away, cursing as she clipped her knee on the opening. “Jet, leggo---”

“Nope. This is happening _now_ . You two are staying in there until _something_ is resolved.”

With one last shove, Faye toppled inside, turning frantically over her shoulder to see Jet already pulling the door closed. “You might have to wake him up; he’s been in there a couple hours. I’ll be back in a while, but until then, I expect words to be exchanged, one way or another.”

Faye started to reply, pouring as much panic and pleading into her eyes as she could, but the door was already sliding shut, and suddenly she was enveloped in total, unforgiving darkness.

…………………………………………….

Spike slumped against the wall, breathing heavily as he took a break from trying to wrench free of his restraint. The darkness of the room offered no comfort to his disorientation; every sensation, even the knowledge of the lack of light, just served as a grim reminder of his existence. His wrist was already rubbed raw from tugging against the cuff, and bled slightly from his attempt to dislodge it by force against the bar he was chained to.

Jet had neglected to leave him liquids of any kind, so he had no relief from his hazy thirst or the raw grating left behind from his screaming. Spike had given up calling after Jet hours ago, but his throat still felt rough and sore and no amount of swallowing eased the pain.

He’d lost the ability to focus clearer some time ago; now, he stared dimly into the darkness, the resentment a festering, writhing monster in his chest. 

_Some partner… chaining him to the fucking wall, leaving him in the dark like a fucking_ **_animal_ ** _… just like Vicious._

_No… Jet was nothing like Vicious._

_Jet had principles, a code to stand by, honor and justice to uphold._

**_Vicious_ ** _was the rabid dog; the human manifestation of the horseman of war, he’d just been an omen of death and destruction._

_Yet… he’d… had everything. The bastard, he’d had_ **_everything_ ** _and he wanted more,_ **_needed_ ** _more. That insatiable hunger of a man who’d tasted power, and revelled,_ **_thrived_ ** _at every opportunity to use and abuse it. The thirst for more had never been satisfied; Spike’d seen it in his eyes when he’d fought him for the last time. When they fought, Vicious had been seeking the final victory. In his eyes, immortality. Ultimate power of life over death._

Spike hiccuped in the middle of his chuckle.

_“F’ckin’ bastard,”_ he mumbled, his tongue on a delay with his brain. _“S’rves you right f’r all th’ shit you fucked up…”_

An itch was growing, somewhere in the back of his mind, in the back of his throat along with the scratchiness. He could feel his nerves, sort of, as they tingled and pinched up and down his body, but they were changing. The hold his brain had on reality was returning, and it brought with it thoughts and the first ripples of a headache.

Spike groaned. _“F’cking… Jet… you couldn’t jus’... let me have_ **_this_ ** _one… moth’rfucker…”_

Suddenly, the door to the storage room shot open, and punishing light flooded the interior. Spike flailed an arm, trying to block the source even as he was blinded. The faint headache grew into an abrupt resident in a manner of seconds.

_“Jet, leggo---”_

_“Nope. This is happening now. You two are staying in there until_ **_something_ ** _is resolved.”_

A pause and a surprised yelp as something fell heavily into the room.

_“You might have to wake him up; he’s been in there a couple hours. I’ll be back in a while, but until then, I expect words to be exchanged, one way or another.”_

The door slid shut, the agony of light was diminished, and a click indicated the lock being reset. Spike slowly lowered his arm, blinking into the fresh, slightly forgiving blackness. Somewhere in front of him and to the left, there was shuffling and a sudden thud, followed by a string of curses. 

_“So the dams’l has returned,”_ he murmured, smirking bitterly.

The cursing abruptly halted. There was more shuffling, and then a single beam shot to the ceiling. It adjusted and spun, finding his eyes and blinding him for the second time in so many minutes.

“Spike? What… what happened? What did you do?”

_“N’thin’.”_

He squinted his eyes against the light as it drew closer, before it adjusted to the side. Faye sighed, gazing wearily into his face.

“Bullshit.”

_“Whaddaya want, Faye? I h’ven’t got much left, Jet already took my liqu’r.”_

Another sigh. He lifted his head and squinted until Faye came into as much focus as he could manage. She was crouching, an arm’s length away, with a flashlight held loosely in her left hand. A collection of crumpled papers was gripped in her right.

_“Gotta speech f’r me or somethin’?”_

Faye shook her head, bemusement heavy on her features until she glanced down. She propped the flashlight up to the side and slowly pressed the creases from the pages, before setting them down on a nearby storage container. “A conversation for another time. Right now… Jet said we needed to talk, and… I agree.”

_“I’ve said all ‘ve needed to say.”_

“You haven’t said _anything._ ”

_“So you're getting it, then.”_

Faye scowled, sitting cross-legged in front of him. “I don’t believe you.”

Spike narrowed his eyes, the sour monster in his chest turning back to ice in an instant. _“Don’t push this, Faye.”_

“Try me for once.”

_“Wh… for_ **_once_ ** _?”_

“Yeah, for once. Be honest with me.”

Spike snorted. _“I seem to recall you insisting I_ **_not_ ** _tell you things a l’ng time ago.”_

“That was different,” Faye huffed; even in the harsh half-light, Spike could see the color rising in her cheeks. “And… well, I’m here _now_ , and I want to talk to you, and I… I want to _listen_.”

_“You won’t l’ke what I have to say.”_

“Maybe not… but at least you’ll be _saying_ something.”

Faye pinched her nose and leaned away. “Spike, Jet has us in here until we talk this out. Until we figure out what… _this_ is. Between us.”

_“S’nothing to talk out, I t’ld you.”_

“Spike---”

She fell silent at his cold glare. Slowly, Spike edged forward, staring into her eyes even though they were merely green blurs at this point. The cuff stopped him short, but he leaned, haphazardly pulled between the bar and those hateful eyes. Those… eyes that weren’t backing down. That were giving as much as they took, _finally_ , but not in the way he expected. Not in the way he _needed_ . Spike lowered his gaze; he suddenly couldn’t bear the emotions he found in those eyes, determination and caring and _hurt_.

“Spike. When you look at me, what do you see? I want the _truth_.”

_“Truth,”_ he muttered with a snort. “You w’nt truth? Alright then, here’s the truth.”

Spike forced his eyes up again, taking in how set her shoulders were, the tight knit of her brows and the apprehension as she bit her lip. “You’re the girl adrift in time. You told me you got your mem’mries back, but you’ve fallen into the same ol’ pr’dictable patterns, same ol’ habits because they’re _safe_. You need safety and familiarity, or you’ll lose y’rself.”

He paused, waiting for some broken-hearted rebuttal or snapping denial, but… Faye didn’t say anything. Her shoulders trembled, and her features were tight with hurt and shame, but she remained silent. _Damn it, why wouldn’t she_ **_say_ ** _anything, the one time he needed her to?_

“You need t’ be needed,” he continued. “You pr’tend not to be but you _crave_ others’ necessity of _you._ ”

Spike felt a wave of grim satisfaction when Fay inhaled sharply. _He was getting there._

“I see… a cat. You wand’r and roam, taking what you need when you need it, more if you can manage. Because you have to feel _good_ , at any cost. You drip of empty indiff’rence and independence, but you always come running back because you _feed_ off of others. _That’s_ what I see.”

The air was thick and bitter, weighted down by the profound silence.

“... Are you finished?”

“I was finished bef’re I started.”

Faye took a deep breath, obviously attempting to steady herself. “Spike… please tell me. Are we… still friends?”

His snort was laced with genuine surprise. “F’ck if I know. I… f’ck it; if _you_ still believe we are.”

“Am I _only_ a friend to you?”

That struck a nerve. The monster was clawing slowly in his chest, egged on by seething bitterness and grief rything under the surface. 

“Is that not _enough_ for you?” Spike hissed, saliva trailing down his chin. “What do you _want_ , my whole life story?”

Faye cringed. “No! Just… enough to work this out. To _help_ , maybe.”

Spike allowed the dark chuckle to shake his shoulders, but he remained silent. _He didn’t want her help. Not now._

“... What’s _your_ truth, Spike? Why is this happening? Is… do you _hate_ me, is that it?”

The question caught him completely by surprise. Spike’s eyes flitted upwards, to find Faye’s shoulders slumped, and the strange, tangible weariness filling her eyes, same as from yesterday. _Had it really only been_ **_yesterday_ ** _?_ His tongue took a few moments to respond.

“I don’t… don’t be st’pid, I don’t _hate_ you.”

_I don’t hate_ **_you_ ** _._

“Then why are you so angry? Damn it, Spike, tell me _something_ so I can understand what’s going on with you! With _us_ ! I _want_ to understand why you’re such a fucking wreck right now---”

“Understand?? You want to _understand_?!” 

The small chink in his armor spread into one long, agonized crack, and his patience finally shattered. Spike surged forward, sizzling resentment building as he was held back, anchored in place by the cuff and his own now-aching arm.

“You, and Jet and Ed… you’re fighting for r’mains. I’m… Faye, I’m _less_ than a r’flection. My whole _life_ was in the service of others, and when I reached out f’r the _one_ thing I wanted, I managed to f’ck it up and... I don’t even know _how_ . I’m a _ghost_ , Faye. A fighter with no fight. I wanted to stop being _controlled_ , to stop living someone else’s life, but… some fucking life I made.”

His laugh felt foreign in his throat, choking and hollow and hoarse. “At least _that_ much we have in common; we’re just two cowboys with no real _lives_ . Here’s another _truth_ for you, since you’re so _f’cking_ eager: I don’t _hate_ you, Faye, because _there’s not enough substance in you to hate._ ”

That last one… was a lie. A blatant lie that stung like acid in his throat, even as he spat into her horrified face that he knew was paralyzed from shock. But Spike had already gripped the shovel with both hands, and he had a mission. He wanted, _needed_ her to bite back, to scream, to do _something_ . If she could just _muscle up and dish it back_ , the feelings would easily bury themselves.

“Spike…” Faye’s voice was a whimper, but her eyes… Her eyes held firm, and all she said was his name. His name on her lips felt like fire and wine and destruction, threatening to pull him under with the care and patience of a glacier, its greater mass boiling just below the surface of her tears.

_Why wouldn’t she fight back? She always fought back; it made it so much easier, it made so much more_ **_sense_ ** _when she fought back._ Spike fought a rising tide of panic as he glared daggers into her eyes. _Why wasn’t this_ **_working_ ** _?_

“Sorry to burst your p’rfect little bubble, Faye,” he growled, running a shaking hand through his hair, “but it’s not that I’m a fucking wreck _now_ . It’s that I never stopped _being_ one.”

His own confession took Spike by surprise. It was the clearest truth he’d ever felt, and it burned hotter and _colder_ than anything he’d said up until that point.

“I wanted _out_ . I wanted to be done with syndicate life and being told that every _fucking_ move I made was for someone else. I wanted out and I wanted _her_ to come with me and…”

Spike’s head reeled as he spoke; _why was he saying these things to her?_

He was breathing heavily again, too sharp and too fast, and the dim room began to swim before his already clouded eyes. Maybe it was the alcohol, the isolation in the darkness, whatever… but he found he couldn’t stop himself speaking, now that he’d started. Words tumbled from his lips, a rasping cascade of broken admissions to fears and truths he’d never dared utter aloud.

“She didn’t come with me, Faye. She. Didn’t. _Follow_ . Me. He… _Vicious_ … that fucking _bast’rd_ … the _whole_ time I knew him, that we were _partn’rs,_ what he wanted, he took. He saw someth’ng he liked, even a little, and he snatched it out of thin air. It wasn’t enough to have the power, and the money, and everything about the life. He wanted it all, so he took it _all_ . He even took _fucking her,_ the one thing in my pathetic excuse for an existence that made me feel _alive,_ and he stOLE _HER_!”

He was struggling now, struggling against the cuff to try and reach Faye even as she stumbled away. His head was growing light, and every breath was hitched and painful, but he couldn’t stop. He _wanted_ to stop but the words were _there_ , breaking out through his chest and spilling his secrets on the cold metal floor. _He couldn’t stop._

“I’M SO F’CKING SICK OF PEOPLE TAKING FROM ME! MY _HOME,_ MY _CHILDHOOD; ANYTHING WORTH A DAMN HAS BEEN_ **_TAKEN_ ** _FROM ME. EXCEPT WHAT WAS THERE TO TAKE, REALLY?? AND THEN,_ **_AND THEN_ ** _, WHEN I FOUND A PURPOSE, A REASON TO EXIST BEYOND BEING_ **_USED_ ** _..._ THE _ONE_ PERSON IN MY _FUCKING LIFE WHO THOUGHT I WAS WORTH A DAMN_ **_SECOND_ ** _OF HER TIME AND I… I WASN’T_ **_GOOD_ ** _ENOUGH FOR HER!!!”_

Faye’s terrified face was blurring as Spike crumpled on his knees, but he fought to face her. His throat _burned_ with the exertion, and every few words cracked as he screamed but he _had to tell her_ . _This damned honesty was all he had left, and he was so fucking_ **_tired_ ** _..._

“ _THIS_ IS MY LIFE, FAYE. I’VE _NEVER_ BEEN WORTH IT. EVEN NOW, WITH _YOU_ AND _JET_ AND EVEN THE… THE FUCKING _KID_ . I JUST CAN’T GET _RID OF YOU_ , EVEN THOUGH YOU DON’T _NEED ME!_ NO ONE HAS EVER NEEDED ME; I’VE JUST BEEN A TOOL AND THAT’S ALL I’LL _EVER_ BE AND I… I WASN’T GOOD ENOUGH FOR _HER_ , SO WHAT MAKES YOU THINK I’M GOOD ENOUGH FOR _YOU?!”_

_Breathing was growing steadily more difficult. All he could feel were his own rasping breaths and shaking fingers. Still wrapped in bandages._

_Still trapped by their care._

“I WASN’T… I WASN’T GOOD ENOUGH FOR HER UNTIL… I… UNTIL EVERYTHING WAS _GONE_ . EVERYTHING… EVERYTHING WORTH HAVING WAS _GONE_ , AND WE WERE JUST SUPPOSED TO _WANDER AGAIN. AND… AND NOW… I DON’T_ **_HAVE_ ** _ANYTHING WORTH_ **_HAVING_ **\---”

“Spike---”

He blinked hard, waving away the outstretched hand he knew couldn’t be there. _He couldn’t take it, and everything was swimming and the air was so thin..._

_“What the fuck was I… what did I_ **_think_ ** _… I… I wasn’t worth it to her… everything…_ **_everything_ ** _I’ve… I’ve ever…”_

Phantom hands clasped his face. Spike shut his eyes against the kindness. He couldn’t take the sight of her. He couldn’t… he couldn’t breathe again... _he even took his breath away, the bastard…_

“Spike, shut the fuck up and breathe.”

_“I…”_

His head rested suddenly against something solid. The solid thing stayed. The phantom hands held him steady, even as he felt himself sinking closer to the floor.

“Spike, _breathe._ I don’t want you passing out like this. Just listen to me and _breathe_.”

_He didn’t want to. He didn’t deserve to. Breathing was for the living._

_“Spike._ **_Please._ ** _In… and out…”_

The voice was persistent, and Spike’s lungs worked against him on instinct, his mind completely numb at this point. He was exhausted, angry, and so damn _alone_. 

_And he deserved to be alone._

_He’d been tolerated, a weapon molded to fit into any role, an artist with many gifts but no subjective vision. He had the brain_ **_and_ ** _the brawn, kept on a tight leash by the_ **_real_ ** _men in power. He’d been tolerated because he was the monster they’d formed, but he’d found a light in that darkness. A light that_ **_dared_ ** _to make him hope for something more, something he imagined to be_ **_freedom_ ** _. But when he finally managed to rake up the courage to run, to escape and_ **_live_ ** _, he was no longer the man she’d pretended to love…_

His face was wet again. His eyes _burned_ as his chest heaved, desperate for something he didn’t deserve. Spike struggled to remain on his knees, his hand barely finding traction on the metal grating. He thought he felt something smooth brush his arm.

“You’re getting there, Spike. In… and out… Keep breathing, cowboy, that’s it…”

The nickname jogged him from his stupor. Still struggling for air, Spike forced his eyes open. Through a watery haze, a pair of emeralds met him with a sad, resolute gaze. He cringed, tried to close his eyes again at the sight of her face, but fingers pried his eyelids open. Faye’s brows furrowed.

“Spike. You’re drunk and tired. We _will_ talk about this later, but right now, I’m here, and so are you. You’re _here_ , on the Bebop, with me, and Jet, and Ed and Ein. We’re all here, _together,_ and… we’re not going anywhere. So you’re going to shut up and breathe, and once you can do that, you’re going to fucking sleep this off and suffer through the hangover you deserve.”

She let his eyelids go, but kept her hands firmly on the sides of his face. “Breathe, Spike. _Please_.”

Spike followed that word through the dark, through the numb heaving and choking as his heartbeat gradually faded from his eardrums. He felt himself slumping forward, his fatigue catching up with him, and his forehead dropped against her shoulder as he continued to gasp for air and quell his own tears. A hand moved to his back, rubbing slow circles as the other ran through his hair. 

Spike regained awareness of his fist growing stiff against the unforgiving metal floor. He tried to unclasp it, but every inch of him was rigid and fragile from his attack; any movement threatened a total collapse. He could breathe again, but he was completely drained and numb. Dimly, he registered Faye resting her chin against the side of his head.

_“You’re a real baby, you know that?”_ she whispered. 

Spike bit his lip, a snort forcing its way up his lungs. He took a shuddering breath and tried to look up at her, but his head was still swimming and his stomach felt like it was fighting for a place in his throat. Faye sighed, adjusting to grip both his arms.

“We’re gonna do this slow, okay? I’m gonna have you sit against the wall; just breathe and take your time.”

Spike had to assume he nodded; he couldn’t really tell at this point. Gradually, she edged him upright, and he was able to crawl back towards the bar he was chained to, to lean heavily against the wall. His limbs were heavy, and now that he could breathe again, his brain was growing foggy as the familiar shroud of unconsciousness descended. Faye shuffled to sit beside him, bumping lightly against his shoulder. Spike attempted to roll his head to face her, but she put a hand to his forehead and gently pressed him back to the wall.

“You’re _not_ throwing up all over me again,” she grumbled. “Just… fucking chill, okay? You don’t get to hurl this one; this is gonna be a long hangover and you’re going to deserve every second of it, but for now, just rest, you lunkhead.”

Spike’s eyes fluttered closed. Everything felt thick and dizzying and he just wanted to sleep.

But there was still one thing he needed to say. One last confession before his senses dulled entirely...

_“I’m… sorry.”_

“... Prove it in the daylight.”

And then he was floating, detached from himself and the whiskey in his blood and the pain that just wouldn’t go away.

…………………………………………….

Jet hesitated outside the storage room, a bottle of water in his hand and a bottle of Aspirin in his pocket. The words were unintelligible through the metal, but he knew Spike well enough to recognize his screams. They faded eventually, replaced with indefinite, uncertain silence; Jet wasn’t sure which he dreaded more. Finally, he worked up his own nerve and pulled the storage door open, peering hesitantly inside. 

Faye blinked dully up at him, seated on Spike’s far side with her arms wrapped around her knees. Spike’s head rested against the wall, his eyes loosely closed. His breathing was hitched, but he breathed nonetheless, slow enough that Jet knew he was asleep.

The older bounty hunter exhaled slowly, before tossing the water to Faye. She caught it, uncapping it to take a swig herself. There was a weighty silence, but from what Jet could gather from it, the conversation had begun, and that’s all he could ask of them.

“Has he earned this?” Jet asked, tugging the bottle of pills from his pocket and shaking it slightly.

Faye glanced at Spike’s slack face before nodding numbly. Jet took a deep breath before tossing the bottle; she caught it just as easily, mouth still tightly closed.

“... Are you okay?”

It was easily a minute of silence before she replied. “No… but I’ll get there. And so will he.”

“... I’ll leave the door open. Lemme know when you wanna drag him out.”

Jet waited for her soft nod before ducking out of the room again. He made his way slowly back to the kitchen, already calculating in his head the ingredients needed for lunch.

Enough for five.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I've been sitting on Spike's breakdown for about two weeks now, and I gotta say it's a relief to have it out there now. Their conversations are not over, per se, but his truth has finally been revealed for the most part and now they can start picking up the pieces and begin a better, Actual healing process. 
> 
> FUCK I'm tired after writing this but it's also such a Relief to have this raw a chapter out of my system. (don't worry, I have not given up on fluff solely for angst; you just gotta break a few eggs before you can.... have more soft moments or something, idek)
> 
> There's one moment that I actually have to thank another reader for that just happened to be purely coincidental but I noticed the parallel AFTER I wrote it and it gave me goosebumps. When Spike compares her to a cat, I loved that visual so much and it hurt so much how far he was going to try and push her away; it wasn't until AFTER I read it that I remembered she-was-a-psychedelic-messsss (thank you again so much this KILLED me) informed me of a fandom headcanon that during Spike's "tiger-striped cat story," he's referring to Faye, not Julia, as I'd originally read the scene. For my interpretation, I like the idea that he's not exactly sure WHO he's talking about, but it tickled me to draw that parallel myself, and twist it to my own evil devices :D
> 
> Thanks for reading, and let me know what you think!


	32. To Be Wanted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You don’t get to decide for others what they care about, who they care about, and… who’s worthy of being cared about… You know?”

Spike managed to only puke his guts twice. The first time, Faye and Jet were walking him as gently as possible to the living room. He hadn’t regained consciousness in over an hour, but he’d started to shiver in the cool storage room. It was painfully slow work, easing him upright and trying not to jostle him too much, but they managed to get halfway down the hall before his eyelids flickered, not quite making it open.

Faye adjusted her grip as Spike’s head lolled towards her shoulder. He still hung limply, but his breathing was changing, and a low moan emitted from dry, slack lips. Faye glanced towards him to find his eyes screwed tightly shut. “Easy, cowboy, we’re almost to th---”

Spike’s stomach forcibly purged the majority of its contents before she could finish her sentence. Jet and Faye grimaced in unison as Spike wretched, the sour scent of whiskey and bile quickly flooding the hall’s air. The involuntary wave eventually subsided and he slumped again in their arms, limbs trembling and breaths an unsteady rasp. They managed to drag him around the unpleasant puddle without any missteps. Faye had a nervous impulse to joke about who would clean it up, but one look at Jet’s acidic scowl and the impulse died on its own.

The second regretful projecting was objectively Faye’s own fault. 

They laid him down on the couch easily enough; Faye scrounged up a clean cloth and soaked it in cool water, placing it over his eyes. With Jet’s help, she edged him slightly upright, cradling his head against her shoulder and managing to work some aspirin and water down his throat. Spike remained catatonic, his skin pale and features slack. Jet nudged a trash can to his side, as a precaution.

The older bounty hunter made lunch for the group and called for Ed, but she and Ein were nowhere to be seen. After a tense amount of waiting, he ate his portion in silence, glaring pointedly anywhere but at the man passed out on the couch. Another half an hour and he stood, shoving his hands deep in his pockets and stalking towards the bridge.

“Let me know when he wakes up,” he grumbled, pausing in the doorway. “I’m gonna get us in the air; been docked here too long.”

Faye nodded wordlessly, leaning against the arm of the couch. Once Jet had gone, she knelt by Spike’s side, resting the back of her hand gingerly on his forehead. It was still damp with perspiration but some of the heat had noticeably faded. She stared at his untouched plate for a moment, before lifting it and perching it tentatively on the edge of the couch. With a delicate hand, she shifted the cloth and ran her fingers through his hair.

“Spike? Hey, let’s try and get some food in you, okay?”

His eyelids flickered at her voice but otherwise he made no response. Taking that as a positive sign, Faye gathered a small mouthful of peppers and worked it between his teeth. At first, Spike didn’t move, just lay there with the tiny portion in his mouth; Faye was beginning to worry when his jaw started to work, slowly and vaguely chewing on instinct. She sighed with relief when he swallowed, and was preparing a second when she heard a low gurgling, suspiciously growing in volume as she listened. Faye only barely managed to snag the trash can and tip his face towards it before the bell peppers and another round of sour whiskey violently returned to the visible world. Spike’s complexion was now a prominent shade of green and he shuddered, curling weakly on the couch in obvious misery. Faye wiped his mouth and rubbed his shoulder, her face flushed with embarrassment at her attempt to help failing miserably.

She never saw Jet hesitating in the doorway shaking his head, having witnessed the misguided disaster. Nor did she see him wander away again, allowing her pride to remain intact for a little while.

…………………………………………….

Jet rolled his shoulders, strolling leisurely down the hall in search of Ed and Ein. They’d disappeared after Jet had initially locked Spike up, and he was surprised at how long it’d been since he’d seen them. Now, he called out again, not a little perturbed that his gift of lunch had gone all but ignored by his ungrateful crew.

“Ed? Ein? Damn it, where are those two---”

The faint sound of shuffling and a sudden bump caught his attention. It came from the end of the hall, from… Spike’s room. Jet groaned, the knot in his shoulders growing as he walked towards the sound, trying to keep his steps a little lighter. He found Ein standing guard at the door; when the corgi saw him, Jet put a finger to his lips, uncertain of whether or not the dog would understand the gesture. 

Apparently he did, because Ein gave a small huff and turned to face the room again.

With pursed lips and a frown, Jet peered around the edge of the doorway. Inside, Ed was hunched on Spike’s bunk, a haphazard pile of clothes on one side and a sad attempt at a folded pile on the other. She wore a pair of Faye’s boots, hanging far too loosely on her feet, that she kicked absently as she took another shirt and tried to make it smaller without simply rolling it in a ball.

The room itself was a smidge neater, though only just. Where there had been chaos before, now was... slightly organized chaos. Any objects remotely similar were in piles, an attempt made at some form of order. The glass in the doorway sat in a dustpan to the side, with a broom propped on the wall still gleaming with tiny, sparkling slivers. Spike’s knife rested on the shelf, wiped clean, and the bottles from his trunk, along with the empty ones that had littered the floor before, were mysteriously missing.

Ed’s brows furrowed as she turned the shirt in her hands, teeth grinding as she tried to make sense of how to fold it.

“Need a hand?”

She yelped, one of Faye’s shoes clattering to the floor as she shot back on the bunk. Her eyes and nose still held a tinge of red, but it looked as if all her tears had been shed for the time being.

“Edward… Edward was just trying to help,” she mumbled, gripping the shirt tighter in her fingers.

Jet shuffled forward and crouched in front of her, gently taking it from her hands. “I know, kid. Here, let me show you.”

Slowly, he walked her through the folds, glancing every so often to make sure she was following. It was a strange moment, but Jet didn’t mind; he welcomed the distraction. Ed watched him intently, copying his movements and gaining more confidence as she went. After a moment, she tipped the toe of Faye’s shoe towards him.

“Edward didn’t come in barefoot, so no glass, no getting hurt.”

Jet nodded, unable to hide a faint chuckle. After a moment’s thought, he gestured to Spike’s trunk. “Do you know what happened to---”

“Airlock,” Ed said, keeping her eyes set on a pair of Spike’s pants. “Ein’s idea. Bad bottles are space’s problem now.”

Jet paused, glancing towards the dog in the doorway. Ein’s ears perked up, and Jet could have sworn he saw a wink. 

“... Faye-Faye’s back. Saw her ship zoom-zooming in.”

“... Yeah. She’s with Spike right now.”

“... I heard yelly-screaming. It… it sounded like the Spike-person.”

Jet heaved a sigh, leaning heavily on the mattress. “Yeah… That was him.”

There was a weighty silence, during which Ed fiddled absently with a pair of Spike’s socks.

_“... Did Ed do right?”_

Jet closed his eyes against the faint tremble in her voice. “Ed, you did _exactly_ the right thing. He’s… Spike’s not… it’s... complicated.”

“Spike-person has dreams he sees when he’s awake, but doesn’t want to think about.”

“... Yeah.”

“We’ll face them with him, won’t we?”

Jet ruffled Ed’s hair, forcing a smile as he met her eyes. “Sure as hell we will, kiddo. When he’s up again, I think it’s time we all had a talk. Whether or not he wants it, we’ll face what’s biting him together.”

…………………………………………….

Time and reality were incomprehensible in Spike’s addled mind; only the nauseating headache drilling a hole through his skull existed in this foreign plane.

He remembered… very little. His room growing cloudy and sharp pain on his fingers. Shoddy and self-inflicted, though the reason was fuzzy. He drank some more to ease the pain, and the rest faded into static.

Spike tried to reach back a little further, tried to remember _why_ he’d turned to the bottle. It came back gradually, his last conversation with Faye…

No. Not the last.

She’d come back. They’d talked… had they?

The throbbing of Spike’s head was growing, and he moaned, biting his lip as he tried to remember. A myriad of possible conversations washed over him, each more unpleasant than the last. He remembered being angry, feeling his chest burn and his throat growing raw as he---

He’d shouted at her. _Screamed_. Lost anything resembling control.

_Fuck_.

Spike couldn’t decide which would be worse: never knowing what he said or having Faye remind him to his face.

He’d been trying to force something down… _everything_ down. Every emotion that’d been bubbling under the surface for… a day? A week? From the moment he’d woken up from his duel? And now, as he regained consciousness, where did that leave him?

… Vacant. All he felt was a hoarse throat and a splitting headache, combined with tight cheeks and weak, exhausted limbs. Not a damn thought or real explanation came to mind, and he silently welcomed the momentary ignorance. Spike wasn’t sure he could handle the full weight of his bender just yet.

The numb weight in his head began to combine with a rising queasiness; his abdomen ached from phantom pains, as if all his muscles had tried to dissect themselves. It was also apparent that he was running on empty. He felt like the only next logical step was a good old-fashioned puking fit, but his stomach had apparently never held food in the last ten years. 

With a dry gulp, he tried to open his eyes, only to find a cloth blocking any light from reaching his vision.

_Thank fuck_. _I need_ _to take this slow._

Slowly, Spike lifted a trembling hand and tugged at the cloth, squinting against the glaring light as he tried to get his bearings. He lay on his side on the couch, with no memory of how the fuck he got to the living room in the first place. The fan blades whirling above his head were the loudest sound he’d ever heard, second only to a strange rustling directly in front of him. 

It took a disorienting minute before he realized he was staring at someone’s back, hunched over the coffee table. A vibrantly yellow, skin-tight top with her obnoxious red coat tied around the front.

Spike edged the cloth back in place and let his hand fall limp again.

No way was he starting a conversation now; he could barely feel his own brain stems firing.

He tried to will sleep to overtake him again, but the deafening shuffling and his headache were too loud now to ignore. 

“Jet, how long’s it been?”

The sound of Faye’s voice was a lightning strike to his brain, far too close and _far_ too loud. Spike moaned, rolling an arm over his ear to try and dull the noise.

“Long enough. And it looks like he’s finally decided to rejoin us.”

“Looks like.”

_Fuck._

An arm slid behind his neck and he felt himself being edged slightly upright. Spike fought a fresh wave of vertigo, until his head came to rest against what felt like the crook of someone’s neck. Fingers pushed two pills between his teeth, and a glass was pressed gently to his mouth.

“Drink up, idiot. Unless you want to throw up again.”

Spike leaned into the glass gingerly, grateful as the cooling liquid relieved his raw throat. The pills followed, and he took another gulp, never having tasted something so sweet in his life.

  
Water. What a gift.

The shoulder pulled away and he was lowered again to the couch, comforted only momentarily as the pills had yet to take effect. A corner of the cloth began to lift, and he shut his eyes tightly, unable and unwilling to take in any sights at the moment.

“Spike. I know you’re awake. Look at me.”

He didn’t want to. He’d have given anything to escape this moment, to be anywhere but this ship with this woman having any conversation at all.

Because he didn’t know what he said to her. Knowledge was power, and control. And he’d lost it completely.

“Spike, open your _fucking_ eyes.”

Faye’s voice was far too loud in his ears; the nausea skyrocketed, and he involuntarily clutched at his stomach, the rolling in his gut a terrible indicator of another potential purging. At this point, though, he figured dimly that it would only result in dry heaving. Wouldn’t make it hurt any less.

Fingers ghosted across his face, but he weakly managed to bat them away.

_“Alright, alright, gimme a second,”_ he mumbled, his voice scratchy.

Cautiously, Spike cracked his eyes open. His greatest fear shifted into view: Faye, with her arms crossed, kneeling directly in front of his face. Her features were tense, but her usual bitter scowl was nowhere in sight. Just a tight-lipped frown and tired, _tired_ eyes.

“What do you remember?” she asked, tilting her head. There was no mercy in her look.

Spike shrugged, immediately followed by a wince at his own movement. _“I’m assuming I f’cked up.”_

“Big time, buster. Jet said you locked yourself away for most of the time I was gone. I was gone for _a whole-ass day, Spike._ What the hell is wrong with you?”

Spike lowered his eyes, fighting for an indifferent expression even as shame flushed his cheeks.

“You said you were sorry; is that still true?”

He glanced up sharply, meeting her firm stare in surprise. When had he said that? A long, uncomfortable pause before his gaze fell again, the guilt and uncertainty growing more palpable and painful. 

“... I’m going to take that as a yes.”

Faye ruffled his hair, and he cringed. “You can’t keep scaring us like this, lunkhead. You’ve got to actually take care of yourself.”

_“Yes, dear,”_ he grumbled, attempting a half-lidded glare. _“Exc’pt I’m an adult and I don’t need_ **_your_ ** _help with my decisi’n making.”_

“I know,” she replied, turning her back on him and leaning against the couch. “You already told me as much.”

Spike took an unsteady gulp as he stared at the back of her head. _Shit shit shit shit what the fuck did I say fucking shit damn it ass---_

“Spike… I… I don’t know what this is, between us, and we don’t have to figure it out now, but… When are you going to accept that we care about you?”

The question halted any forward motion in Spike’s thought processes. He didn’t move, _couldn’t_ move as he watched Faye’s shoulder slowly square before his eyes.

“Look… again, I don’t know what you remember, and I doubt it was a lot but… you put too much stock in your own opinion, you know that?”

Faye shifted sideways, leaning an arm on the couch and burying her face in her hand. “Spike, you stupid son of a bitch, I can’t stop you from thinking so little of yourself, but I’m _going_ to tell you that no matter how hard you push, and no matter how firmly you think drowning yourself will make you feel better, I can tell you that it isn’t going to work, and that we’re not going _anywhere_ . You don’t get to decide for others what they care about, _who_ they care about, and… who’s _worthy_ of being cared about… You know?”

Spike’s mind was completely blank, confusion and alarm blaring as Faye glanced at him from behind her fist. “Spike, I don’t… I don’t know a lot about you, and if you need it to stay that way for now, I understand, but… I… oh, to hell with it.”

Leaning away, Faye snatched something off the coffee table. She held it in front of his eyes, a crumpled sheet of paper covered in words he couldn’t find the energy to read. “While _you_ were having a pity bender, _I_ did some thinking. I… I want to make something. Something worth _remembering_ . I’ve spent so long, fighting for my past and finding it wanting; I want to _create_ a future I can appreciate.”

Faye settled closer, resting her cheek next to his forehead as she held the page high above her eyes. She jabbed at a random spot on the page. “Did you know there’s five ways of brewing coffee, one of which was only invented after the development of space travel? About a dozen different categories of coffee beans to match and an _outrageous_ variety of ways to serve them? Our shitty little coffee maker is fine and all but what if there was an undiscovered way of brewing that could _only_ be achieved on the Bebop?”

She flipped the page and studied it, pointing a finger at another collection of scribbles. “I was looking up different art styles and _this_ one doesn’t even sound like a real word. An-a-mor-pho-sis. Apparently it’s like a picture that you can only fully see from a certain angle. Or this, I’ve always liked poetry but there’s so _many_ ways and---”

_“Faye. What the f’ck are you talking about.”_

She waved the page above their heads. “I’m talking about _life_ , asshole. My own. I gave up on chasing the past, but now I know what living my future could _be_ . And… I want _you_ to be a _part_ of it.”

Spike closed his eyes. _“... Why are you t’lling me this?”_

“Because I think you’ve spent enough time in your own head, Spike.”

Kind fingers pushed disheveled hair from his forehead. “Listen… we don’t have to talk now, and it might not even be one conversation, but… we’re _going_ to. We’re all a team, here, and we keep almost losing you, and… that’s not okay. No matter how many times we fall, we pick each other back up again, because that’s what teammates do. But it’s your turn to take that first step, cowboy.”

Spike remained silent. Something in her voice, the eagerness or the persistence, felt like a knife digging into his chest.

Faye sighed. “I… I don’t know if this is what you need to hear or not, but… we don’t _need_ you, in the technical sense.”

The knife jerked violently, but Spike felt no surprise. He thought absently that he should feel colder, that the ice should have finally enclosed his heart, but instead… it fell. A deep, hollow ache, like she’d finally spoken a truth he’d always known but hadn’t the balls to say in the real world.

“But… we _want_ you. We want to care about you, lunkhead. That’s the thing about caring for someone. You don’t need them, but you want them, _want_ to care about them, and that in a way leads to needing them.”

Being wanted, which in turn led to being needed. Spike’s mind reeled.

What a strange idea.

Two mismatched eyes opened, taking in the curve of her arm and how she absently tucked her hair behind her ear. Faye wasn’t facing him, but even from the side Spike could see how firmly set her jaw was, and how her eyes glittered with determination and clarity. She glanced towards him, wiping her eyes hurriedly, but he’d already seen the tear trailing down her cheek. He felt his own trembling hand reach towards her face.

_“Pr’tty girls like you shouldn’t cry; it doesn’t fit.”_

Faye smiled slightly, taking his bandaged fingers and giving them a gentle squeeze. “And stubborn assholes like you shouldn’t waste their lives pushing people away. It’s not fair.”

Spike grunted. _“N’body said life was fair.”_

“Maybe, but that doesn’t give you the right to disregard it entirely.”

She released his hand and held the page once again before his eyes. “Let’s keep living, cowboy. I can’t find your life for you, but I’ll be here to lend a hand. We _all_ will be.”

The words caught in Spike's throat; even if he'd wanted to, he wasn't sure he'd have been able to say any. It felt dishonest, to join in her hope, but he didn't want to kill this spark with a snide remark or a mumbled acknowledgement. Any words he said would only reveal how little he still believed her.

_To be needed... yeah, right._

Spike couldn't let her see his doubts, so he gave the safest, easiest response he could think of.

_“... Mmm.”_

“That’s _all_ you’ve got for her, after all that? Spike, you truly are the a grade-A asshole.”

A sudden, firm hand gripped his shoulder and turned him on his back. Spike yelped, curling his arm pitifully over his eyes. _“Jet, what the f’ck---”_

A metal knuckle knocked gently on his elbow. “I’m a little hurt, you know; I said _pretty_ much those exact words to you and yet it takes a _woman_ to get through to you?”  
  


Spike grumbled, narrowing his eyes and glaring blearily from behind his arm. _“Shaddup. S’not like that.”_

“Oh?” Jet chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned over the back of the couch. “And what _is_ it like, Spike? Hmm?”

Spike pursed his lips, but before he could hiss a reply, a mop of red hair peaked out from behind Jet’s back. Ed’s fingers curled over the edge of the couch, and she stared down wordlessly into his face. 

_A nightmare and an unsteady hallway._

_“What happened to the Spike-person’s smile?”_

_A burned bridge in the form of a child._

_… Shit._

Jet glanced to the side and noted the exchange. He leaned back, stretching awkwardly and motioning towards the door. “Hey, Faye, can you give me a hand? I… Spike needs to have a word with Ed.”  
  
Faye stood, tilting her head in confusion. “I… sure.”

Spike gazed up at her, willing the universe to make her stay for _any_ reason, to make her fight and be stubborn again and not leave him alone, but she moved away, glancing back with concern but offering no argument.

What a terrible time for firsts.

Jet leaned close to Spike’s ear. “You’d better _fucking_ make this right,” he growled. “Make it a good apology, and a _better_ thank you.”

Spike grimaced. _“What’m I… thanks f’r what?”_

  
“For cleaning up your room, dickhead. Kids shouldn’t feel the need to clear up glass, _especially_ ones that spend their entire lives barefoot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I don't need to be your friend, but I want to be." That is a phrase a very dear friend of mine said to me after a long conversation about self-worth and loneliness. I didn't intend to use it at first in this story, but it just felt... right. It felt like something Faye would note and find the right way to put into words that he could understand. I've done an accidental amount of soul-searching while writing this story, and I'm going to guess this is a message a fair amount of readers could use right about now. Hope you heard it ;)
> 
> And thus begins the slow healing of everyone's favorite bastard man. I gotta say, it feels weird writing something so light like this after like, what, sevenish chapters of pain and angst? But the healing has to start somewhere, and I like how this chapter happened. The ending feels a bit like a cliffhanger, but I think it's the right place to leave it for now. 
> 
> DAMN this feels like the first breath of fresh air I've had in a while. Let me know what you think, I appreciate the thoughts of readers more than you can ever know. And, as always:
> 
> thanks for reading and joining me on this journey!
> 
> Edit 7/29: As I was writing chapter 35, I realized Spike regained his hope a little too quickly. so I reworked the ending bit of his conversation with Faye a tad. It's the smallest of edits, but it matters and packs a punch better to what I'm trying to get to.


	33. Substance

_“I don’t_ **_hate_ ** _you, Faye, because there’s not enough substance in you to hate.”_

Faye blinked the words away as she followed Jet into the galley. It was a quarter to midnight, and she’d been trying to banish them the entire day, pushing them down as she tended to Spike or studied her precious pages. To her dismay, they always resurfaced, either churning gradually or striking her suddenly to her very core.

Any attempt at rationalizing his words, reasoning that he was just angry and drunk or just trying to rile her up, was always squashed by an honest and humiliating thought of Faye’s own creation:

That he was _right_.

“Coffee?”

Faye started at Jet’s voice. “Hmm?”

He nodded towards the pot he was already at work brewing. “I know it’s late, but this day never seems to end, so we might as well.”

“Yeah, sure,” Faye nodded stiffly, shuffling to the side.

She gripped her arm absently, eyes wandering up and down the stained metal walls and flickering fluorescent lights. This ship had already held so much history long before she’d ever set foot in its grimy halls. It struck her that this was the first time she’d ever wondered where it’d been to get this _decrepit_ , yet still remain so… whole. 

The wear and tear differed from surface to surface, but they nevertheless met in a strange uneven harmony. How many pieces of the ship remained of the original? Did that even really matter? Jet may replace or improve upon the ship, but no matter how it changed and grew, it would still always _unquestionably_ remain the Bebop.

The thought felt like it should have served as a comfort, but it only made her eyes sting.

_“Not enough substance to hate.”_

_Not enough substance to change._

“Faye?”

She raised her eyes to find Jet peering thoughtfully at her, twin cups of coffee grasped in his hands. Faye blinked hard, wordlessly accepting the proffered mug. They sipped in silence, both sets of eyes wandering to the door to the hall.

“You wanna talk?”

Faye gave a dishonest shake of her head. Unperturbed, Jet nudged her arm.

“Come on, now. _You_ said earlier we’re teammates. _All_ of us. It’s been a while since we’ve talked.”

There was a strange fondness to the memory of their quiet conversations, back when Spike was in recovery. It’d been stilted at first, both shaken and tired most of the time, but the tension had eased to be replaced with… mutual kindness. They reminisced about adventures, laughed at forgotten squabbles and teased when they could manage it. They talked about their differences and likenesses, a cop versus a crook, honor versus deception, and the merits of both. They talked about love and loss, Alisa and Whitney briefly, before they fell silent and hurt again. It was a strange time, but their friendship had nevertheless grown in the faintness of Spike’s heartbeat. A brother and sister in arms, in their own peculiar and absurd way.

Jet nudged her again. “So, what’s on your mind?”

Faye nursed her mug, unable to meet his eyes. “I’m just… thinking.”

“We’ve established that much,” Jet sighed, scratching his beard thoughtfully. “Alright, maybe this’ll help you along. You _really_ think that’s the first time he’s lost it on this ship?”

Faye turned sharply. “What?”

Jet nodded, leaning heavily on the countertop. “It’s been a long couple of years, Faye. When I first met Spike, he had quite the chip on his shoulder. He hid it in his slouch, but I wasn’t quite the fool he took me for. A couple months in, I don't know what caused it, but he attempted to drink himself under the table. At the rate he was going, you'd think he was _trying_ to give himself alcohol poisoning. I tried to stop him, and he nearly bit my other hand off.”

Jet chuckled darkly. “I made the mistake of trying to actually get him to open up. He never did tell me what he was trying to bury, but he sure as hell beat into me with whatever words he could muster. Called me an old man, living in a fantasy of control, with a delusional sense of honor and justice as I hunted just to the left of the law. He called me a lot of things, to be honest, but there were two that nearly got him thrown out the airlock between gates.”

“... What were they?”

A long sip followed by a hefty sigh. “Coward and hypocrite. I’m a man of honor, and there’s nothing worse than having some punk-ass kid call you something you’ve been inwardly calling yourself. By then he knew I was ex-ISSP, and that I left because of my arm. It was like he saw straight through me and knew where to bury the knife.”

“What did you do?” Faye asked, coffee entirely forgotten as she stared, transfixed by the story.

“I did what any reasonable person should do after talking with that lunkhead: I socked him good and hard. I wanted him to be sober when I tore into him, but he was out for two days and when he _did_ come to, he didn’t remember a damn word.”

“Even after all that, why didn’t you dump him on the nearest asteroid?”

Jet shrugged. “Old habits die hard. I needed a partner, and so did he. Two heads are better than one, after all, even if one of those heads is as stubborn as Spike. He saw the angles I couldn’t, and besides… he looked like the kinda guy who’d get himself killed left alone too long. On purpose, if he could manage it.”

“You teamed up out of pity?”

“On the contrary; I don’t think I could pity Spike if I tried. No, it goes deeper than that.”

Faye narrowed her eyes. “You teamed up because you were lonely, didn’t you?”

The older bounty hunter remained silent, but Faye saw his brow twitch as he set his mug to the side. He shuffled a pack from his pocket and lit a cigarette in gruff silence. Unable to stop herself, Faye smirked.

“Men don’t _get_ lonely,” Jet finally grumbled after a particularly long drag. “Don’t be stupid. It’s simply not healthy to spend too much time in solitude.”

Faye nodded mockingly. “Mhm, sure.”

Jet scowled. “Look, he was just so shitfaced, I knew he couldn’t have been fully in his right mind, so I let it go. He never mentioned it, so I never brought it up. _That’s_ honor between men.”

With a small smile, he added, “The bastard called me ‘partner’ for the first time a handful of days after that.”

Faye gazed at Jet in thoughtful silence as he blew a lazy spiral of smoke. He glanced to the side, catching her eye. “Spike’s an asshole. _That’s_ a fact. But I don’t think you quite read him to rights, earlier.”

“How you figure?”

“It’s not that Spike… how’d you put it? ‘Puts so much stock in his own opinion?’ It’s not opinions that matter to Spike; he just knows the power of words. He knows what’ll hit a person the hardest, because he sees people and understands them for what they are. He called me a coward; what’d he get you with?”

Faye’s eyes dropped to her shoes. She’d somehow managed to forget about the stinging words until this moment. “... No substance. ‘Not enough substance to hate.’”

Jet closed his eyes. “... Ah.”

They leaned on the counter in silence, the hum of the refrigerator lending a calming white noise to their thoughts. Eventually, Jet shook his head.

“Loyalty.”

  
  
“What?”

“Your substance. Loyalty. It may be misguided at times, but it’s there. The number of times that idiot’s run off and nearly gotten himself killed, and you right behind him to scrape him off the cement? Don’t think for a second he didn’t notice.”

Faybe blushed. “That doesn’t---”

“Yes it does. Loyalty means a lot to Spike. Trust that when the going gets tough, someone’ll still be around, and that they’ll have skin thick enough to take the heat.”

Jet tilted his head towards her. “You’ve got more than just loyalty, you know. You’re stubborn and manipulative, with a side of recklessness and arrogance.”

Faye scowled. “You have a funny way of complimenting a girl, Jet.”

He chuckled. “I’m not finished. I could’ve just as easily said you’re headstrong and push through obstacles because you _know_ you can beat them. You’re smart, know your assets and how to use them, and when it counts, you don’t back down from a fight. Call it courage or stupidity, pride or determination. It’s all in the way you say it. Spike knows that, and he uses it to his advantage, most of the time to get under other people’s skin or to push them away.”

With a sigh, Jet crushed the spent cigarette in a nearby ashtray. “Took me too long to figure that out, and even when I did, he still managed to get under my skin. Still does, still probably always will. So don’t take it too personally, whatever else he said.”

“But…” Faye fiddled with her jacket, terrified of speaking the fear into existence. “What if he’s right?”

“So what?” Jet countered. “It’s your life, your rules, your truth. Ain’t nobody else can decide that.”

“I know, I know, I just… damn it, I don’t know what’s gotten into me.” 

Faye rubbed her eyes wearily. “I’ve just… never seen him like that before. Maybe that’s what’s gotten me so shaken up.”

“You think you got through to him earlier?”

Faye laughed quietly. “I doubt it; his skull’s too _thick_ for any one person to break through. But hey; we’ve got a lifetime and a crew that might _one_ day make him see sense.”

“Then,” Jet replied, stifling a yawn, “in the same vein, are you gonna let the words of one drunk asshole kill your fire?”

“... No. No I’m not.” Faye pumped a fist determinedly. “You know what, Jet? You’re right. I’m not going to let that idiot discourage me when I’ve _finally_ figured something out on my own. _Fuck_ Spike.”

She missed the four words Jet mumbled under his breath. After a moment of thought, Faye laid a grateful hand on his arm. “Hey… thanks.”

Jet shrugged, patting her hand gently. “What can I say? I’m a nice guy. Don’t know why I bother, since you’ll be back at it again in no time, but for now I’m going to hope for a calmer tomorrow.”

Faye chuckled, returning to her by-now lukewarm cup of coffee. 

“So… you were thinking of poetry, huh?” 

Faye gripped her mug suspiciously. “Maybe. It’s a long list, I was just picking at random to prove a point… why?”

With a chuckle, Jet edged past her and stopped in the doorway. “Try sonnets. I wrote one or two for Alisa, way back. They can be… quite therapeutic, once you get the hang of them. The important thing is, don’t try and force it. Just write _your_ truth and nothing less.”

Jet waved lightly over his shoulder as he departed, leaving Faye in deep, introspective silence.

Her truth? That’s why she made the list in the first place, to find her truth, her purpose, her future beyond her past.

Her… substance.

Spike’s words still stung, and her own pain and fears still whirled, on the brink of drowning her, but Faye wasn’t one to go out without a fight. This _was_ her life, and she’d be damned if she wasn’t going to make the absolute fucking _most_ of it.

Now seemed like as good a time as ever to start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter today, but I like the focus on their friendship, and the thoughtfulness of Faye as she works through her shit. Don't get me wrong, she's still mad and hurt, and I'll work through that in time, but with emotions, anger is reactionary. The hurt apparently had to come first.
> 
> These two really took this scene from me, honestly. I might one day write more of their conversations from the time of Spike's coma, and also potentially the fight between Spike and Jet. 
> 
> Don't have a lot of thoughts after this chapter just bc I'm sad and I want everyone to make up quicker, but relationships take time and patience, you know? As always, thanks for reading, and I can't wait to share more of this story! Fair warning, I'm coming to the end of this particular arc, but don't panic. I have plans.


	34. A Good Apology and a Better Thank You

Spike squinted numbly at Ed as she slouched from behind the couch. Her face was lowered, absently studying the metal grates at her feet as she wandered closer. With a timidity Spike had never seen, she stopped at the corner and lowered herself to the floor, just as Ein waddled into view.

“... Hey, kid.”

Ed pulled her goggles over her eyes, rocking slowly back and forth against the couch. With a sigh, Spike slowly edged himself upright, covering his eyes as his brain decided that _that_ moment was the best time to begin its gravity-free volleyball career. He gripped the side of the couch and eased his legs to the floor, the jolt of solid ground beneath his feet sending a nail between his eyes. “F’ckin’ eugh… uh… can oooh shit… can you c’mere a sec? I can’t… I can’t see that far.”

There was a faint shuffling and a few footsteps, before Spike heard the creak of the coffee table in front of him. He slowly lowered his hand, carefully narrowing his eyes against the light. Ed sat cross-legged on the table, Ein nestled cozily in her lap. It must have been a trick of the light, because he could have sworn the corgi was glaring at him. Ed’s chin drooped to her chest as she absently scratched Ein’s ears. Spike took a deep breath, the full weight of guilt crashing down on his shoulders. He let it, because he knew he deserved it.

“Jet… t’ld me you cleaned up my room. Th… thanks for doing that.”

Ed nodded once. In her arms, Ein flattened his ears and the glower he was shooting Spike increased. The bounty hunter groaned and tried again.

“I mean it, kid. I… you didn’t have to do that… why did you?”

She shrugged listlessly, absently twirling her fingers. Ein craned his neck back, releasing a low whine.

“Ed… did I… shit. Did I say anything to you?”

Ed shook her head, head still tilted towards the floor. Spike buried his face in his hands, the headache finally beginning to ease replaced by a new kind of ache in the center of his chest. No matter what he said, it’d never be enough, and he deserved it.

“... Do you know why Edward came back?”

Spike froze, palms still pushed into his eyes. It was a question he’d asked himself a handful of times, but hadn’t spared himself the time to give it much thought. Ed was a kid, after all; she had to make her own choices, find her own way in the world. If she wandered back to them, what did it matter?

… It mattered a helluva lot.

The memory still stung, the goodbye he didn’t understand until she and the dog were already long gone. Spike and Jet had feasted that night, since his three least favorite burdens had finally departed on their own, but the dinner was held in stony silence, and afterwards Jet had retreated to his room without a single word. 

Spike had tried to roam the halls or relax on the couch, but he caught himself multiple times, waiting and listening for the patter of tiny paws, a faint giggle, even the sharp clack of heels down the halls. _Something_ to break the unrelenting quiet. He’d eventually turned to whiskey then, too, albeit only enough to cause distraction. 

He’d preferred the quiet before, long ago when it was just two bounty hunters chasing money to survive. With the three troublemakers gone, the silence grew more deafening than any pointless argument from before. When had he lost his appreciation for the silence?

A small foot lightly nudged his leg. Spike started, blinking his eyes rapidly. He’d started to doze, lost in his thoughts and unable to give her an answer. Ed peered at him, a bit of the tension having bled from her face and replaced with her regular gentle curiosity. “Does the Spike-person still need the sleepies?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.

Spike shook his head, covering his eyes again with a hand as the movement jostled his brain. “Not yet,” he mumbled. “I… I gotta ‘pologize still.”

Taking a deep breath, he parted his fingers enough to meet her golden eyes. She’d pushed her goggles back to her forehead, and now he could see the slight swelling around her eyes, and registered for the first time her nose, obviously rubbed raw some time ago. Spike almost choked on his own words, but he managed to force them out. “I’m… I’m sorry, Ed. I don’t r’lly remember a lot but I… I was a real shithead, and all you did was… try to help.”

The understanding in her gaze was too powerful for him to bear. Spike buried his face in a hand again. “Damn it, Ed, you’re just a kid. I shouldn’t’ve… you shouldn’t’ve had to… fuck, I’m sorry.”

“Edward already knew that, but it’s nice to hear.”

Ed’s tiny fingers pried his hand away. She smiled at his grimace. “Being a kid isn’t Edward’s weakness, you know; it’s her _strength_. Spike-person just needs to learn how to be strong like Ed. Maybe Spike could take some tips?”

The corners of Spike’s mouth twitched, tainted with regret by the sight of red veins still fading from her eyes. “Sure, kid. Maybe when I’m s’ber.”

Ed grinned wider; with a slight hop she scrambled forward, curling next to him on the couch with Ein clasped in her arms. Spike leaned back with a sigh, wincing until he found a comfortable position by her side. After a moment of silence, he felt himself being studied and glanced to the side. Ed peered up at him, leaning heavily on his arm. “What was Spike-person like when he was Edward’s age?”

Spike sighed, ignoring an instinctual impulse to shake her off. “I don’t r’lly remember. I… I never r’lly got the chance to be one.”

Ed nodded knowingly. “Spike-person isn’t smart enough to have ever been a kid.”

He grunted. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah-yeah-yeah,” she said, poking him with each repetition. “Spike-person’s a big ol’ dummy stupid brain.”

Spike smiled weakly, attempting to wave away her hand. “You got that right.”

“Mhm. Spike fucked up.”

That earned a snort, followed immediately by another wince. Ed giggled. After a moment’s thought, Spike elbowed her lightly. “Don’t let Faye hear you sayin’ that, she’ll rip me a new asshole.”

Spike’s skull was now splitting into thirds, but Ed’s laughter softened his heart, so he let his head fall back and endured the agony in silence. As her giggles faded into comfortable silence, he found Ed’s question still nagging at the back of his mind.

“... Why _did_ you come back, Ed? You never said.”

Ed hummed, placing Ein gently to the side. She squirmed until she sat upside down with her legs in the air. “You never guessed.”

The corgi plopped himself unceremoniously in Spike’s lap. The bounty hunter shifted, glancing down to find Ein panting calmly as he nestled against his chest. Spike rolled his head and squinted back towards Ed. “Mmm. I dunno, meteorites not really your style?”

Immediately, Spike knew he’d chosen his words poorly. Ed’s smile wavered, and Ein stiffened in his lap. The corgi stretched, nudging Ed’s shoulder with a whimper. Ed reached out and scratched his ears, the smile resettling on her face. “It was Ein’s idea,” she whispered after a moment, peering up to meet Spike’s eyes. “Ein was bored and missed the Bebop. Ed just followed.”

The bounty hunter knew that look. He’d seen that look a dozen times, in the mirror, felt it on his own face more often than not.

A blatant lie. 

Spike hesitated, before reaching out to ruffle her hair. “The Bebop missed Ein, too. Wouldn’t shut up about him; I tell yah, it was getting real old.”

Ed giggled, grasping his hand and holding it above her face. “Ed knows,” she said, smirking as she tapped his fingers one by one.

Spike made a mental note to ask Jet what had happened, the day Ed had returned. Nobody had bothered to tell him, and he’d never bothered to ask. It hadn’t mattered before. He hadn’t fucked up yet.

The room began to drift in and out of focus as Spike's eyelids drooped. The warm weight of Ein on his lap and the rhythmic tapping on his hand were reminding him that he was exhausted, and sleep once again threatened to overtake him. Before he let himself fade completely, he managed to poke back at Ed’s hands.

“I… really am... sorry.”

“Ed knows. Sleepy Spike should chase the sleepies now---”

She might have said more, but his eyes were already closed and he was floating away...

…………………………………………….

Jet peered into the living room hesitantly; his shoulders relaxed at the sight of the three on the couch, talking in hushed voices. A jolt of irritation shot through him as Spike slumped against the couch, fast asleep again. Ed continued to hold Spike’s limp arm in the air, turning it from side to side like a plane; she seemed to be happy, so Jet let the irritation fade as he shuffled forward.

“How’s he doing?”

Ed rolled her head towards his voice. “Chasing the sleepies,” she giggled, tossing Spike’s arm and catching deftly as it flopped towards her face. 

Spike snored lightly, unaware of Jet shaking his head as he approached the couch. With a finger to his lips, he gestured Ed and Ein away and lowered his partner on his side. Spike’s eyes barely fluttered, deeply unconscious to the friend settling him more comfortably as he slept. 

After a moment, Jet felt Ed’s fingers grip his hand. He glanced down to find her blinking thickly. With a sigh, Jet knelt and gathered her in his arms. “Come on, kiddo, it’s late. We could all use the sleep.”

She yawned in reply, head already lolling against his shoulder. Jet sighed, setting her as gently as he could on the far armchair. Ed curled immediately into a ball, one arm hanging loosely over the edge. With a hop and a jump, Ein settled next to her, releasing a satisfied huff. Jet looked between the three, a slight smile tugging at cheeks as he turned to leave. Small fingers grasping his hand stopped him in his tracks.

“I miss papa.”

Ed’s soft whimper brought Jet to his knees. He crouched by her side, wiping away the single tear that strayed down her cheek. Her eyes had already flickered shut and her hand had fallen limp, but Jet remained there for a while longer, wondering what the hell he was going to do with this group.

This strange family of strays he’d adopted on his ship.

He knew the answer, in his heart.

Keep them alive, keep them safe, keep them together.

  
That’s what you do for family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EEEEYYYYYY YAH GIRL'S GOT ORIENTATION TOMORROW! THAT MEANS.... CHAPTERS WILL TAKE LONGER THAN A DAY OR TWO TO COMPLETE! Ah well, I hope you've appreciated the near constant posting while it lasted ;D Had trouble with the title and again, this feels like a shorter chapter that I probs could have combined with Jet and Faye's convo but eh, I like having them segmented the way they are. I'm also excited by some groundwork I've laid for future conversations, but we'll let that happen when it happens ;)
> 
> These last couple chapters are not exactly tricky to write, per se, but they do make me sad. Sad because in a way, one part of the story is ending. I've always hated endings, but I want to make this one hit right. (don't worry, I'm not going anywhere anytime soon! I refer only to THIS portion of the story; the greater world of Bebop has called me, and I must answer it :D)
> 
> As always, thanks for reading, and let me know what you think!


	35. Lucky Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listened to "Lucky Man" by The Verve for about four hour straight, musing on this chapter. Many thanks to catoandtonto for introducing me to the song; I'd never heard it before but as soon as they suggested it, the song gripped my soul and wouldn't let me go until I felt the lyrics in my bones and wove them into a chapter ;)
> 
> This chapter took me some time to work through, and I'm glad I waited to work it out. Endless thanks AGAIN to ShadowcrestNightingale for beta-reading another chapter. My first draft just didn't feel right, and she gave me a couple nudges that sent me in EXACTLY the direction I wanted to tumble. Seriously, if you want spectacular drama and a thrill-ride, check out her stuff. She's started a new Bebop fic that has me quaking in fear (in the best possible way :D)
> 
> I made a slight tweak to Chapter 32, near the very end, as Spike's thinking about Faye's words. It felt a little too fast, having him want to move forward again so quickly, and as I was writing this chapter that feeling grew until I had to change it. It's the teeniest change, but I think one that's worth it to really grasp where he's at in this chapter. 10/10 would recommend going and finding that change before reading further.
> 
> This is ranked as one of the harder yet satisfying chapters I've had to write. Hope you enjoy, and will humor me in waiting just a bit longer as the healing unfolds.

Spike slumped forward on the couch, sometime in the early afternoon. He’d only had a little over a day to recover, mostly spent sleeping and drinking water and keeping his big mouth shut. As soon as he’d been sober enough to respond to Jet’s tense greeting the _first_ time he was prompted, he’d been yanked upright and informed that there would be a ‘ship meeting’ that he’d better stay conscious for. The older bounty hunter had left him to stare forlornly at the coffee table, before dragging Faye into the living room moments later under heavy protest. She now fidgeted to his right, equally silent as the pair of them were scrutinized by Jet’s furious gaze.

The last vestiges of Spike’s hangover still lingered in his stiff limbs and tired eyes, but it helped him stay awake as he waited for the oncoming storm. A thin layer of stubble ghosted his jaw, which he scratched absently with freshly bandaged fingers. The cuts wouldn’t take long to heal, and nothing would scar, but Jet had gruffly forced him to re-wrap them himself. Spike secretly welcomed the physical aches; that was a punishment he could understand and readily dwell in. He willed the dull throbbing to remain a little longer, if only to distract him from the torment of his own inner dialogue and divert his thoughts from the tense bodies surrounding him. 

The intensity of Jet’s glare at the top of his head did little more than encourage the bounty hunter to hunch his shoulders further. Spike knew he’d been patient before, but that patience seemed to have vanished practically overnight. Now, Jet paced with his eyes fixed on the offending pair on the couch, the only thing blocking a path directly to them being the coffee table and his own self control. Spike wondered how long it would take for the older bounty to deck him; he’d already decided he wouldn’t fight back.

Out of the corner of his eye, Spike noted Ed tapping away at her computer, Ein lounging by her side. Both were oddly quiet, save for the click of the keyboard.

“Are you listening, Spike?”

Jet’s sharp inquiry punctured his thoughts. Spike glanced up wearily, catching Jet’s furious eyes briefly before sliding back back to the table. He nodded once.

“And you, Faye?”

“... Yeah.”

“Good, because I’ve got some things to say. The two of you have been a real pair of jackasses.”

Beside him, Faye shuffled awkwardly, exhaling a controlled sigh. 

“Whatever is going on between you can be dealt with in time. It can and it _will_ be, but right now, this _team_ is on thin fucking ice. I _should_ be able to trust my comrades, and at the moment I really fucking don’t.”

Spike’s eyes sunk to his shoes, the weight on his shoulders steadily growing. Jet resumed his rant, his voice traveling as his pacing grew more agitated.

“Apparently we’ve got bigger problems than your petty squabble. We were in a tricky spot even before _someone_ decided to absolutely lose his shit---”

Spike hung his head a little lower, wondering vaguely if his tie would make a satisfying enough noose. 

“--- and now I haven’t a slightest fucking idea what to do with you. I spoke to Bob last night, and the news isn’t good. I don’t know what we were thinking, but you should’ve never gone on _any_ hunts until we had confirmed that the Red Dragons were good and truly finished. It’s just our luck that they’re _fucking_ not; some of the rats managed to drag themselves out of the rubble, and they’re regrouping. You didn’t attract too much attention, considering they were smaller hits, and with Ed’s help we’ve managed to switch the bounty records to _my_ name. She’s also doing you the _kindness_ of finding any security footage from you sauntering into the precincts and wiping them clean.”

The tapping of Ed’s keyboard faltered slightly, but she hummed and resumed her pace without comment. Jet’s voice turned to a growl, digging into Spike’s skull with every acidic word.

“You were as good as made by multiple officers, but for whatever reason your continued existence remains simply a rumor. That is a _gift_ we will not take for granted. We’ll never be sure if anyone truly knows unless they broadcast any salvaged security footage of your shitty face all over the news, so we’ll just have to wait and see. For now _I’ve_ just got to deal with the fallout of your crusade _and_ clean your drunk ass off the floor _._ ”

The barrage stung more than Jet’s solid right hook, but it was nothing compared to the internal assault Spike was inflicting on himself.

“And _you_ ,” Jet continued, “running off a- _fucking_ -gain without a thought or word. It has to stop, Faye.”

She stiffened at Spike’s side. “But---”

“No. No fucking buts. It stops _now_ . Both of you shitheads have wasted enough of my time, so you’re gonna listen and you’re gonna _act like adults_ . No more running off without a word, no more attempting to _drown_ yourself for no reason other than you’re too proud to admit something’s wrong. You’re both on this team and you’re gonna _act_ like it. _Got it?_ ”

Silence. Thick, pressurized silence spread far too long until slowly, Spike and Faye each nodded. Jet sighed, the armchair squeaking as he gripped its back. 

“Faye… I’ve already had a word with you, and I don’t feel that conversation needs repeating. But something else does. This team only _stays_ a team if everyone’s on the same page, and right now… the communication flow has been all but shattered. I didn’t want to push it, but I see no other choice. Faye… repeat it.”

Faye shifted uncomfortably. “Repeat what?”

“What he said, in storage. Whichever parts you think we _all_ need to hear. Especially Mr. Self-Destruct over there.”

Spike’s shoulders immediately stiffened. To his right, Faye inched to the edge of the couch to lean just as heavily on her own knees. “Jet, I don’t think---”

_“Say it.”_

She swallowed loudly. “Um… w-well… he, um… shit, I don’t remember the _exact_ words…”

“Anything there about _substance?_ ”

Out of the corner of his eye, Spike noted the visible flinch. Not a single word of the conversation bubbled to mind, but that flinch was all he needed to droop his head further towards the floor. 

“Fucking fine. He said he wasn’t worth it. That we were fighting for… remains or some shit. Um… he… he couldn’t get rid of us, even though we didn’t… n… need him.”

Faye cleared her throat awkwardly, the room around her deadly quiet. Spike couldn’t face her. The motion would only look like a plea for sympathy he didn’t deserve. The instinct to defend himself, to deflect or shrug away the words crept up his spine. It whispered his name, taunting him and taking bites from his resolve.

But Spike didn’t try to stop her. He’d lost that right. He simply closed his eyes and endured in silence as Faye continued putting a voice to his subconscious.

“It was all… um… all about that, really. Him not being needed, or worthless, or… not good enough. That he didn’t have anything worth having. That he was just… _a tool for others… and that’s all… all he’ll ever be._ ”

Faye’s voice faded, and the room was still. The words ran themselves ragged echoing through his mind, gaining traction with each repetition.

_He wasn’t worth it_.

He’d said as much to Jet, weeks ago, and Spike found that it still rang true in his heart. 

_They were fighting for remains._

A little poetic, but equally true. What _remained_ of a bounty hunter who’d thrown everything into one final fight, and now that he’d been given a second chance, insisted on instinctively throwing it all away.

_They didn’t need him. He was worthless._

Even as he felt the truth ringing in his ears, Spike’s gut wrenched at the conscious admission. The words were getting harder to repeat, but he forced them through, willing himself to sit in his own words. If they had to accept it, then so did he. 

And he did… it was his own words against him, after all. Even though it stung, a knife twisting mercilessly in his chest, it _had_ to be the truth.

_Not good enough._ An objective fact. His crimes stained to the furthest reaches of the universe. To be good enough, you had to be good at _all_.

_A tool for others… that’s all he’ll ever be._

Even if they _wanted_ him, what use was he to them, now? To _anyone?_ Jet had already informed him of essentially his incarceration, due to his own restless and reckless nature. Stuck on the ship, he was just dead weight, a warm body without substance, just living to eat and take up their space and time---

_“You never learn.”_

A sudden jolt and Spike was nearly yanked to his feet, his jacket clenched in Jet’s fist. The older bounty hunter’s eyes flashed, boring into him as he shook Spike roughly. _“What the hell is wrong with you, Spike?”_ Jet growled, his free fist pumping at his side. _“What’s it gonna take to get through to your thick skull, huh?”_

Jet shoved him back to the couch, towering over him as his voice rose in his fury. “No matter what we say, you’re never gonna learn, are you? You dumb piece of shit, we’ve _talked_ about this. Worthless?? _A tool?!_ You’re a tool alright, you self-obsessed BASTARD!”

The metal fist rose suddenly, and Spike flinched, waiting for the hit he knew he deserved. 

But… it never came. The metal fist slowly fell again, still shaking at Jet’s side. It took Spike a moment to realize Faye now standing, a hand on Jet’s chest and terror in her eyes. Another second and he registered the tapping of Ed’s computer had ceased a _long_ time ago. A small hand suddenly rested on his knee, and she was there, peering into his face and ignoring the seething bounty hunter directly behind her. Spike automatically turned away, stiffened at her touch. A huff and Ein was at his other side, rubbing against his leg. Spike clenched a fist, closing his eyes as his head drooped wearily.

_“Does the Spike-person really believe all that?”_

The child’s voice was a whisper, but it wasn’t accusatory, or angry, or even teasing. He almost expected her to laugh, confirmation that she agreed. Instead, Ed cupped his face solemnly in her hands. She lifted until Spike’s eyes were at her level.

“... That’s stupid.”

Tiny fingers shook him roughly.

“Where is Spike? Give him back.”

He blinked, brow furrowed as he met her gaze in confusion. Ed glared at him, squishing his cheeks and rotating his face with her hands. “Give Spike back,” she repeated, narrowing her eyes. “He was stupid, but not _that_ stupid. I want the sleepy Spike back.”

“I’d like my partner back, too,” Jet grumbled, still towering over him. “I said it before and I’ll say it again; we didn’t need you before we met you, pard, but that’s fucking _changed_. When are you gonna wake up to that?”

Spike glanced quickly over tousled red hair, frowning up at Jet. Faye still stood at his side, but her eyes were downcast, her right hand grasping her left arm uncomfortably. Ed rattled his head again, regaining his attention. There was no avoiding her steady frown. He tried to think of something to say, to push away their words, but nothing rose to mind. Not a single defense, not even the echoes of his own thoughts, could stand against the mixture of emotion being showered on him. Spike still attempted to cling to his guilt as he placed his hands over Ed’s and silently lowered them from his face. 

_“What do you think you are, Spike?”_

The hair on the back of Spike’s neck rose at Faye’s soft question. His gaze rose against his will, finding her now staring at him, brow furrowed and an edge to her look that held no anger, only unearned worry directed at him. Spike lowered his eyes and stared at Ed’s hands now clasping his fingers. He tried a slight tug away, but she wouldn’t budge.

“You’re not a tool here, idiot,” Jet grunted, settling heavily on the coffee table. “You’re a teammate, and teammates don’t abandon each other, even when they’re being shitheads.” 

When Spike didn’t respond, Jet cuffed him roughly across his ear. “Look at me, asshole.” 

Spike barely managed to follow the command. There was so much righteous fury in Jet’s eyes that every impulse told him to look away, but he kept his eyes forward, letting his conscience fester in his gut. 

“No more lying to yourself, pard,” Jet murmured, searching Spike’s face with narrowed eyes. “It’s a fool’s notion to think you’re made of nothing but regret and ghosts.”

Spike grunted, his resolve failing as he dropped his eyes again. _“Nobody said I wasn’t a fool.”_

“No, you’re just a lonely-ass lunkhead.”

Faye’s hand rested lightly on his shoulder. The simple touch almost broke him in two. He buried his face in his hands, Ed’s fingers still entangled in his. _“I’m not... lonely,”_ he muttered after a moment, conscious of Faye crouching by his side, rubbing slow circles on his back.

“Bullshit,” Ed chirped.

Faye’s gentle caress froze. _“Edward, don’t use that language.”_

“What? Faye-Faye says that all the time! Lonely Spike, bullshit lunkhead!”

_“EDWARD---”_

Before Faye could continue, both girls fell deadly silent. Spike glanced up to find Jet’s fist raised, his eyes closed in a dangerous scowl. Faye sank back, Ed to her knees by Spike’s feet. Gradually, Jet’s fist lowered, only to reach out and grip Spike’s arm tightly. Spike was forced to meet his steely gaze.

“I’m not finished with you, Spike. You tore yourself up good and proper, sure, but you _also_ said some shit to Faye and I that I’m not ready to forgive just yet.”

Surprise locked Spike’s eyes in place, reading a new wave of emotions creeping into Jet’s grimace. Heavy, grim frustration, coupled with disappointment.

Betrayal.

It would have felt like a relief to be shouted at again, bombarded with scathing acknowledgement of his failings in character and life choices. Even physical, another smack across the ear or a solid punch to his jaw.

Instead, he was forced to acknowledge the dejected look in Jet’s eyes as he spoke a dangerous truth.

“You threatened our partnership, Spike. Whether or not you remember that, _you_ said the words, and… _damn it, Spike_ , you’re a lucky man that I didn’t jettison you then and there.”

Spike’s heart sank like a rock, dragging his eyes to the floor with it. _Why hadn’t he?_

“Your ass could have been space’s problem and I’d be done with you, but the you’d never fucking learn that way. You _still_ don’t know why I bother, and you may never. But damn it, I’ve got to keeping bothering, because I still remember being able to trust you, and I’m going to fucking get _that_ Spike back, even if we have to drag him out of you."

The hand gripping his arm squeezed painfully tight. “You broke a fair amount of trust, here, but you’re gonna earn it back,” Jet muttered. “I _need_ you to buck up, pard, and fucking _earn_ our trust back. You’re not not going to do this shit again. Alright?”

Spike kept his eyes on the floor, slowly nodding once.

“Let me hear you say it, Spike. You owe me that much to _say_ it.”

_“... Alright.”_

“And you’re gonna work to earn our trust back, alright?”

_“... Yeah.”_

Jet released his arm and rose. “You’re still confined to the ship, until we can figure out our next move. We’re headed to Earth, for now; I’ve got a lead on a new bounty. Some schmuck named Carmine Herring II, wanted for unethical drug testing and money laundering. Five million woolong, so nothing to choke at.” 

He tapped on Spike’s forehead roughly, earning a wince.

“Don’t start thinking we’re gonna let you just sit around and mope. You’ll make yourself useful, somehow. We’ll figure it out, whatever it is until you can get back in the air; might have you refurb the Hammerhead for all the trouble you’ve put me through. Either way, you’re gonna _earn_ your keep, like you always have, but you’re gonna do _better_.”

With a grunt, Jet turned and began shuffling towards the kitchen. “I’ve had my say, for now. Dinner’s in a coupla hours; I expect _everyone_ to be there, or you ain’t eating.”

He stopped in the doorway, glancing back one last time. “Clean yourself up; you still look like shit.”

With that, he was gone, leaving the living room in cold silence as Spike stared at his bandaged fingers. He felt eyes studying him from either side, but he still lacked the courage to face them. After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, Faye stood and hurried up the stairs, mumbling about being in the middle of something. Spike sighed, slowly rising to his feet and shoving his hands in his pockets.

“ _I_ think you’re good enough.”

He glanced over his shoulder; Ed stood at his elbow, tilting her head and peering up at him thoughtfully. The patience in her look was not lost on Spike, and a piece of his heart lifted against his better judgement. Still, he couldn’t help but ask the question that burned at the back of his mind.

“... Why?”

“I dunno, I just do.”

Spike grunted, at a loss as he wandered toward the stairs.The quick patter of footsteps and clickety-clack of claws informed him that he was being followed. “I don’t need an escort to my room, yah know,” he mumbled.

“No. Spike just needs friends. Maybe then he wouldn’t feel so shitty.”

Spike didn’t have the energy to smile, but his mood rose a fraction more as Ed dissolved into giggles. “You’re a weird kid,” he mumbled, watching her as she bounded up the stairs.

“You’re a weird adult,” she countered, twirling at the top step. “But we’re still friends, funny fuzzy friends!”

Ein rushed through Spike’s legs, almost toppling him as he rushed after Ed. “Fucking--- Ein, what the hell?”

Ed pouted, gathering Ein in a protective hug. “Don’t do the swears at Ein, he was only playing. Hasn’t Spike-person hurt enough feelings?”

Spike hesitated, one foot resting on the top step. His eyes burned into the far wall, his thoughts wandering to a closed door to the woman lost in time. Something Jet said rose to mind.

_“Anything there about_ **_substance_ ** _?”_

It was miserable, knowing what he’d said, but it was _agony_ knowing it wasn’t the full truth. She’d kept something to herself, perhaps as a mercy, but it only served as further torture. Spike wanted to follow her, to just have her throw it in his face and be done with it, but his feet wouldn’t move. 

_“Until you’re willing to take me seriously and_ **_talk_ ** _to me, and I mean_ **_really_ ** _talk, not just more shitty poetry, you can fucking sleeping in your own bed, by yourself, from now on. Have fun with your_ **_dreams_ ** _.”_

Spike flinched at the memory. He already knew he wasn’t going to be able to sleep without her nearby. He’d gotten too used to the contact, to the calming presence of another. Now, without even his numbing vice in a bottle, he was left to his own devices again, to dreading the darkness that would consume him and drag him into restless dreams.

But he hadn’t earned the right to seek her out again, to even _talk_ to her at this point. Spike wasn’t sure anything would be enough.

“Spike-person?”

Ed recalled him to the present. She and Ein stared up at his frozen frame, heads tilted in unison.

“Edward was only teasing; you don’t need to look so sad.”

Spike shook his head, rolling his shoulders wearily as he rose to the final step. “S’fine, Ed, I’m… you’re just right, is all.”

“Does Spike not believe he deserves forgivingness?”

Spike ducked through the door, thoughtful to the scrambling sound behind him as Ed and Ein followed. He didn’t reply for a moment, focused on keeping his footsteps light as he wandered towards his room. Then, just as he reached his door, he stopped and turned to face her. He crouched, studying Ed as she held a finger to her mouth. “I dunno, Ed,” he sighed finally, shrugging. “Do _you_ think I do?”

She nodded emphatically. Spike allowed himself the faintest smile. “Then that’s gonna have to be enough for now. I… I could use some time alone. I gotta figure out how to earn my keep.”

“Ed and Ein could help!”

He chuckled. “Maybe later. Right now… I gotta figure something out on my own.”

That was the truth. Spike wanted it to be, at least. He would find a way, in the depths of space, to find himself again, to earn whatever care they still held for him.

  
He owed them that much, to at the very least _try_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Happiness/ More or less/ It's just a change in me/ Something in my liberty. Happiness/ Coming and going/ I watch you look at me/ Watch my fever growing/ I know/ just where I am/ But how many corners do I have to turn?/ How many times do I have to learn/ All the love I have is in my mind?"
> 
> Damn it, self worth is hard to get a hold of when you've spent most of your life believing you're just kept around as a tool. What a bummer. But he's on his way.
> 
> I'm looking forward to the next chapter, bc I've already got a portion of it written that makes me happies, but it has a Whole-Ass new challenge that I've only myself to blame for >< Again, it might be a solid minute before it's done, but absence makes the heart grow fonder; hopefully that also applies to y'all reading ;)
> 
> Thanks as always for reading, and remember to be kind to yourselves, wear a damn mask, and know that everyone holds worth. Sometimes it's hard to find it in ourselves, but it is nevertheless there. That is the lesson.


	36. Actions Speak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It started with the coffee. 
> 
> It might’ve started even before that, but Faye noticed the coffee first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is long and different and kinda weird, imo. I tried a couple new things here, and while to Me it feels like a strange shift, it still feels very much like my writing AND it's definitely a chapter that fits where it is. Work's also been kicking my ass but it's also forced me to take some time away from writing so that when I come back to it, it's fun and fresh again. Hope you like!!!

To say the days that followed were strained would be putting it mildly.

The Herring hunt was three days of mindless research and tailing, ending in a sloppy chase and a lukewarm arrest. They got the reward, sure, only to spend the majority on fuel and repairs. While Herring might not have been the _brightest_ of bounties, he’d been determined to run, leading them through an asteroid belt that nearly led to the Hammerhead’s permanent retirement. They survived by the skin of their teeth and ended up cornering Herring, at the cost of some hefty damages to their ships and Jet’s already thin patience.

Throughout the whole fiasco, Spike for the most part kept to himself and out of the way. He was present at mealtimes, though it was mostly by technicality for all the talking he did. Faye and Jet mostly talked bounty hunting, to which Spike currently had little to nothing to contribute, so he ate in silence, head lowered and half-closed eyes fixed on his plate. Jet flipped between pointedly ignoring him and snapping at him, dragging his name into conversation every so often with a bitter tone. Spike responded quietly when spoken to, but offered no resistance or defense to any passive-aggressive criticism.

The fact that he just sat and took it all began to dig under Faye’s skin. Especially since she found she had no words of her own, towards him.

Faye wasn’t sure what she _could_ possibly say to him, at this point. She’d been stunned silent during Jet’s lecture, half on the defensive and half lost in her own thoughts. Now, having taken the time away to collect herself and spend more moments in her own world and thoughts, she found herself growing angry at him again.

The more she dwelt on Spike’s words, the harder she found the idea of forgiving him. Even when he was drunk, there was always sincerity in his words. Spike was not the type to lie when it came to reality. It wasn’t even that Faye couldn’t _take_ a verbal thrashing, it was the _intention_ behind it. Jet had torn into her on more than one occasion, but _his_ words were always laced with actual concern or constructive criticism.

Spike’s drunken outburst had had the intention of cutting straight through to bone, and he’d succeeded.

Faye hadn’t forgotten banning him from her room, and thankfully, neither had he. However, Spike had apparently taken the banishment to the next level entirely. He seemed determined to ignore her, diverting his eyes in the hall on the rare occasion they passed each other and offering only the faintest of greetings when they did. A mixture of grim satisfaction and discomfort always washed over Faye when he slunk past, practically blending into the walls. 

She was able to distract herself from his apparent sulking by throwing herself headlong into research. The more forms of creativity she found, the more fascinating and confusing life became. Was she an artist? A poet? A visual visionary or thoughtful designer? The world was her oyster, and she was ready to snatch it up with vigor to find purpose.

A strange bond began to form between her and Ed, in that time. The child giggled over her shoulder from time to time as she ran through aimless searches, pointing at the screen occasionally to make a suggestion. Faye would bat her hand away, but after a moment of thought followed her advice down the endless rabbit hole she seemed to be falling into. After a day, she’d seek Ed out, mumble her gratitude and ask if she could think of anything else in the realm of reasonability. The halls refilled with chatter and laughter as the girls combed the net together, trying to find something that _truly_ and deeply struck Faye’s interest.

Even with her creative diversions, however, watching Spike fade into the background grew harder and harder to bear. Faye was secretly always relieved when Ed broke through his silence, swinging around and pestering him with meaningless questions or songs. Spike’s responses were always quiet and clipped, but nevertheless gentle and straightforward in kind.

At least he still retained speech enough to humor the kid.

\----

It started with the coffee. 

It might’ve started even before that, but Faye noticed the coffee first.

One afternoon early on in Spike’s self-inflicted vow of silence, she and Jet had a minor squabble; Faye insisted he’d taken her coffee that morning that she’d been preparing right before her shower. It was a petty argument that Spike chewed through in silence, eyes glazed over as they always did when he was lost in thought. Faye had stolen glance after glance, but he only budged to stand and mumble a quiet thanks for food to Jet before shuffling off to a quieter corner of the ship. A piece of Faye wanted to follow and complain to him about Jet, but her gut still wrenched thinking of his voice, ringing in her ears.

So she left him alone.

The next morning, Faye rose early, determined to get her caffeine fix before it was stolen from beneath her again. To her surprise, a pot was already made, steaming and waiting on the leftmost burner. Eagerly, Faye poured herself a mug, relishing the warmth and her good fortune as she padded towards the living room.

The sound of shuffling behind her caused Faye to glance over her shoulder. Spike approached from the direction of the bathroom, eyes half-closed with his hands deep in the pockets of his sweatpants. They both paused awkwardly, Faye growing steadily more uncomfortable as he avoided her face.

In a spur of compassion, she decided to throw him a bone. 

“Coffee’s ready.”

Spike blinked up at her slowly, glancing at the mug in her hands. With a small nod, he ducked wordlessly into the galley. Faye bit her lip, waging an internal war over whether or not to try harder to get him to talk. She eventually decided against it, reasoning curtly as she settled on the couch that if he wanted to speak to her, he would have done so by now.

She wasn’t going to go to _him_ , this time. If Spike wanted to talk, _he’d_ have to initiate. If he insisted on being proud, then so be it.

Another sunrise and the coffee pot was waiting again, with a small addition that made Faye’s heart skip a beat. Her mug was waiting, freshly poured when she stumbled groggily into the galley. Just the right temperature, as if it knew when it’d be found.

Faye kept her eyes open after that.

She came to a startling conclusion, as she began to observe Spike more closely. It wasn’t that he was ignoring her; it was more like he was especially aware of her position at any given moment. His eyes always fell to the floor, when they crossed paths, but the distance between them stayed exactly the same, no matter how much time passed. On top of that, it was like he purposefully kept from seeing her too much at all, but never once did a day go by when she didn’t see him in the hall, walking towards and eventually past her. If she was in a hurry, he slunk to the side every time, head bowed not out of boredom but silent withdrawal.

During mealtimes, though his eyes were on his food, Faye could see the lack of focus, his attention held elsewhere. After some time, she realized the attention was completely on the words drifting over his head, whether or not they were directed at him. It took some observation but she managed to spy his tells, a slight tense in his neck or flit of his lids indicating he was intent on the conversation, even if he gave no addition to it. 

It was like he was looking for an opening, but to what, Faye couldn’t decipher.

\----

“Spike, have you seen my book?” Faye asked, trying to keep her voice casual as she made a show of digging under the armchair.

A week of awkward nods and fresh coffee passed and Faye couldn’t stand the silence between them anymore. She was determined not to bring up the tension directly, and was still very much angry at him, but it was eating away at her, how quiet he remained. So she forced the words, just to have him listen to her voice again.

“It’s the one with the blue cover and the kinda wavy lines pattern,” Faye continued, huffing and standing upright. “I could’ve sworn I left it in here yesterday.”

She glanced to the side to find Spike gazing at her with half-lidded eyes from his position on the couch. He’d taken to lounging on it again, although whenever Jet wandered through he didn’t remain for long. 

Faye raised an eyebrow, impatiently awaiting a reply. Slowly, Spike shrugged, closing his eyes and leaning heavily back on the couch. Faye bit back a sigh, but inwardly she smirked. She had a theory, and now her trap was successfully set. 

After more than one attempt from Spike to have her personal library viscerally evicted from the ship, she’d kept a close eye on each book and never left them out for prying eyes or stubborn fingers to shove out the airlock. This time, however, she’d hidden a book on purpose, in a reasonable enough place to find if one only knew to look for it. Especially someone who knew where she’d choose to read, like he’d been paying close attention all along.

The next morning, Faye almost tripped on the book set directly in front of her door. She smiled to herself as she crept towards the galley, swinging it loosely in her hand.

_Wonder how long it took him to find it_.

The sound of water boiling foze Faye in the hall. It was the regular time, she was sure of it, but this morning was different. There was quiet breathing, followed by an unsuccessfully stifled yawn, emanating from around the corner. Cautiously, Faye held her breath and peered through the galley door. Sure enough, there Spike stood by the burner, hands deep in his pockets and back turned towards her. He was staring down at the pot, seemingly lost in thought.

“... Hey.”

He stiffened at the sound of her voice. Slowly, he shifted to look over his shoulder, and Faye glimpsed with a tinge of surprise how dark the circles under his eyes had grown. His blinks were uneven, and it took obvious effort for him to focus on her face. 

_How long_ **_had_ ** _it taken him to find it? Surely not_ **_that_ ** _long…_

“Found my book,” she tried again, offering it up brightly. “Guess lady luck favors the patient, huh?”

Spike shrugged. After a moment, he shifted and nodded towards the pot. Faye smiled slightly and shuffled forward, fighting to retain a light mood even as he slunk out of her way towards the door. Spurred on by a flash of sympathy, Faye turned back again, just as he was retreating into the hall.

“You want any?” she asked, almost pleading with his back as he hesitated in the doorway. 

Without looking, Spike shook his head, before vanishing into the silence again.

\----

“Jet, shouldn’t we do something? Like… try and get him to talk?”

Another week and still Spike clung to the shadows of the Bebop. Faye stood in the door of Jet’s room, shooting nervous glances every so often into the hall to make sure no one was listening.

“Why?” Jet grunted, keeping his eyes on his work as he delicately clipped the tiniest of branches. “If the dumbass wants to talk, he’ll talk.”

“Jet, it’s been _two weeks_. Hasn’t he beaten himself up enough?”

“Spike’s got thick skin; he’ll get over it eventually.”

“But,” Faye mumbled, fidgeting absently with her coat, “haven’t you noticed… how _hard_ he’s trying?”

Jet sighed; with some hesitation, he set his sheers aside and turned towards the door. “Of course I noticed. He took my words a bit literally, but I’m not complaining.”

Faye narrowed her eyes in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Faye, have you taken a look at that zipcraft of yours since the Herring hunt?”

She shrugged. “Once or twice. Double-checked it for regular maintenance once you fixed it up; thanks, by the way.”

“I never touched your ship.”

“... What?”

Jet crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. “The morning after we collected Herring, I went to begin repairs on the Hammerhead. When I got there, she’d already been given a thorough once-over, as many adjustments that could be made before the spare parts arrived. Several of the panels on the port side had been misaligned from the hit I took when Herring tried out-maneuvering me; I’d meant to deal with them first, but they’d already been shimmied back into place. Not a _great_ job, but an attempt was made nonetheless. The Redtail looked the exact same.”

Faye gawked as Jet shook his head. “When the spare parts I ordered showed, I left them in the hangar and waited up; his door opened around midnight, and he was out for hours. Didn’t finish making the full repairs, but he made a helluva start on it. And even after that, he put everything _right_ back where it belonged. He even started scrubbing down the workshop, a couple days ago.”

“But then… if he’s been doing all _that_ , why do you keep badgering him?”

“To let him know it’s working,” Jet grunted, reclaiming his sheers and shifting back towards his bonsai. “In the years I’ve worked with Spike, not once did he give a shit about maintenance for anything but his own tools. I was convinced for a long time that the Swordfish and his Jericho were the only two things he cared about in the whole damn galaxy. Looking out for our crafts, for the Bebop… just his roundabout way of saying sorry.”

“Wish he’d just grow a spine and _say_ it,” Faye murmured, idley picking at her sleeve.

“He did to Ed.”

Faye pursed her lips. “He actually managed to follow through?”

Jet nodded wordlessly.

“Yeah, well still… that’s different.”

“It is, but not in the way you might think.”

“How so?”

The older bounty hunter clipped the tiniest of branches before speaking. “Spike’s got a backwards way of acting. He can apologize with words for things he’s done, but he _acts_ to make up for the things he’s said. Does that make sense?”

“Not really,” Faye sighed, rubbing the back of her neck wearily. “ _Why_ does it have to be so hard for him to just come out and fucking say it? Just ‘I’m sorry,’ that’s all I--- _we’re_ asking.”

An unintentional snip and a large branch flopped to the table. Jet shot her a sharp look. “Are you fucking serious? You think he got a lot of practice _apologizing_ in a syndicate?”

“Well---”

“Look Faye,” he sighed, pinching his nose irritably, “I’m as frustrated as you are. I thought I’d enjoy a bit of quiet but his fucking brooding got old faster than I anticipated. Don’t get me wrong, I’m going to insist on a verbal apology, but that’s gonna take _time._ I’ve been patient, and I’m going to _keep_ being patient until Spike figures out the actual solution to his fuck-up.”

Jet gave her another sidelong glance. “The question now is, will _you_?”

The question earned a scowl. Faye turned, hoping Jet didn’t glimpse the angry heat rising to her cheeks. She was _tired_ of waiting.

“Sure,” she snapped, “just be patient. It’s not like _hell_ is gonna freeze over before that proud idiot swallows his pride enough to apologize to my face.”

The words soured, even as they left her mouth. Faye didn’t truly believe that; didn’t _want_ to. All this waiting was driving her crazy, but she begrudgingly agreed that it really _was_ necessary. The sincerity wouldn’t be there if it was forced out of him.

Too late, she heard light footsteps fading down the end of the hall. Faye peaked out of Jet’s door just in time to glimpse a flash of blue duck out of sight, followed by the sound of Spike’s door sliding shut again.

\----

That night, Faye stared at the notebook in her hands, the blank page proof of her inspiration having all but dried up. Jet’s suggestion of a sonnet had invigorated her to explore poetry first, and actually learn the different prose and techniques as she learned to create. If Faye grew bored of one style, she would move on to another, finding rejuvenating enthusiasm in the strange, lilting forms.

Page after page had poured out of her for days, the words gaining nuance and fluidity through practice, but suddenly she found herself empty, as if the last words had been stolen away with one thoughtless remark.

_Why didn’t he just say it?_

Faye stabbed her pen into the paper, scowling as she tried to banish the question. The gesture did nothing more than to poke an unfortunate hole through several pages. Wearily, she buried her palms in her eyes, willing any kind of stumbling rhythm to float to mind.

_What was she even working on, again?_

Haikus.

Five syllables, then seven, then five again. Simple enough to understand, _much_ easier than a sonnet. At least it didn’t have to fucking rhyme. The words stumbled over each other, more often than not, but poems were short enough that she could easily move on without too much disappointment. This was the way of learning, she figured.

The blank page was glaring at her, taunting her with its potential.

Five, seven, five. Should be simple enough. Why couldn’t she think of anything?

Because only three syllables rose to mind.

_Stupid Spike._

With a grunt, Faye finally took pen to paper, allowing her pent-up frustration to bleed into every word. If these were the only words she had at the moment, then so be it.

  
  


_That arrogant prick,_

_Too proud to stoop so low as_

_To apologize._

_Lonely-ass lunkhead_

_With his stupid hair and legs_

_Only chasing dreams._

_Bright eyes and heartache_

_Losing himself to himself_

_All alone in space._

_What is trust to him?_

_The promise of atonement_

_Or the will to try?_

_Stupid stupid Spike_

_Why can’t you just come to me_

_And say ‘I’m sorry?’_

  
  


The rage softened as the words paraded across the page, and slowly her fire dissolved into smoke. For a moment she forgot why she was so angry, just that she wanted more than anything to _talk_ to him.

_Why?_

_To defend herself? To prove that she wasn’t as shallow as he’d said?_

_No. What did she have to prove to_ **_him_ ** _, anyway?_

_Did she have something to prove to_ **_herself_ ** _?_

Faye groaned, tossing the notebook away and hugging her knees tightly to her chest. It was too much, all at once, to feel and think and exist. She’d been thinking so much lately, and now it all came crashing down into numb, overwhelming silence.

The thinking had kept the dreaming away, and now, as she sat awake, she dreaded to think what sleep might bring. No comfort, for certain. Only unanswered questions and the rebreaking of her heart by disconnected memories.

Faye sat awake for hours, even as fatigue clung to her cheeks and began to stiffen her arms. She gave herself the excuse that she was brainstorming, but the words continued to fail when she needed them most.

After enough bitter silence of staring into space, Faye struggled to her feet, in need of a destination. She needed to wander, or to pee, or do _something_ other than stew in her own mindless musings. 

Just as she reached for the door, she hesitated.

_What if he’s out there?_

They’d spent weeks together, calming the inner storm of the other by just sleeping nearby. Faye had recently been able to keep her own demons at bay by thinking herself to sleep, but what did Spike have? She knew firsthand that guilt and brooding were little help to a restless mind.

_He wasn’t her responsibility. If he needed help--- if he_ **_wanted_ ** _help, he’d have to come and damn well ask for it. And even then, he’d_ **_still_ ** _have to apologize first._

Faye slid open the door to her room, absently studying her palm.

_He’d held her hand to keep her steady. Banished fear with touch alone. Tempted her temper with his stubbornness and dug into her soul with his thoughtless words._

_Spike Spiegel was alive and it took everything in her power not to kill him._

_But… even that acidic thought was a blatant lie. Of_ **_course_ ** _she didn’t want him to die again. She just wanted him to live as much as_ **_she_ ** _was determined to live. To be and breathe and find himself again, by their sides. How long would it take for him to try? To push past his pride and---_

Faye’s train of thought died as she glanced up, eyes widening as she took in the wrinkled sweatpants, the faded blue shirt, and the equally surprised expression that greeted her. Spike stood, frozen in front of her now-open door, looking for all the world like he was trying to decide whether to run or just evaporate into thin air. The circles under his eyes had only deepened, and he looked thoroughly worn out.

In the uncomfortable silence, he swallowed.

“... Hey.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm curious as to hear thoughts on this one, bc to me the style is SO different from the rest of the fic. I think it's bc I tend to be a lot more dialogue-heavy, and I'm not the strongest when it comes to explaining events in the past-tense while making them interestiiiiing? I'm not sure, maybe I'm just being a little self-critical ;P Either way, I AM happy with how this turned out, don't get me wrong, it's just Different and different is always Weird.
> 
> Now, a bit of a rant. I, as a human, Fucking Hate Poetry. More of a half-assed hate, but HATE nonetheless ;D Words are hard and stupid, and then you have to make them RHYME or follow a FORMAT and it's DUMB and STUPID and anyway this chapter and the next have confirmed poetry and I'm so mad at myself for DOING this to myself but like..... /it fucking fits?????/ Don't get me wrong, poetry as an art form is INSPIRING and brilliant and holds Such Power. It's just always been a power that's seemed just a little far out of my reach, so I've avoided it for the most part. For these two chapters, if the poems seem a bit... on the nose, I'm going to argue that it's in character for Faye being an amateur, and definitely not because I myself don't yet have the nuance to make damn good poetry ;D .... also I am an amateur poet. That too.
> 
> The haikus were fun, I won't lie. Hope you got a giggle out of them ;)
> 
> Thanks as always for waiting and reading, and I hope you don't mind the teeniest of cliffhangers at the end there :D I'm not quite there in the action/ drama genre, but i CAN attempt an ending that'll make you go "alright fucker gimme the next chapter already" XD


	37. Louder than Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! It's me, your friendly neighborhood feral writer! I don't have much to say at the beginning of this one except summaries aren't always worth it, it's late, and I didn't feel like writing one anyway ;)
> 
> Yet another shout-out to ShadowcrestNightingale for beta-reading and helping me polish yet again. I got pretty stumped on this chapter, not gonna lie, but her nudging got me where I wanted to be for this one, and I'm proud of where it ended up. (seriously bros she's a genius who manages to give incredible advice while also poking my second-guessing ass into trusting my instincts)

_“Ed and Ein could help!_

_“Maybe later. Right now… I gotta figure something out on my own.”_

Spike gently closed himself in his room, counting the minutes until dinner while he tried to work out what the _hell_ he was going to do. A few ideas tumbled through his mind as he gazed around his room; his actions from this point forward would serve as a catalyst to regain the trust of his crewmates, and whatever he came up with _had_ to be worth their time.

Unfortunately, dinner came and went and Spike had nothing, each meager idea for reconciliation more half-assed than the last. Nothing felt like enough to make up for that which he couldn’t remember. He lay awake for hours that night, pondering his future until his eyes gradually fluttered closed.

Spike wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. He knew sleep would be difficult with the absence of his recently scorned bedmate; it was the cost of gaining forgiveness while staying away.

That didn’t exactly make it any _easier_ when he awoke in a cold sweat, frantic to quell visions that took far too long to fade. 

The next couple of weeks found Spike’s efforts at sleep were consistently thwarted by dreams. They were harder to remember than before, but that made it all the more agonizing when he shuddered awake, fighting to contain his own gasps and nervous shaking for reasons unknown.

After the first pair of restless nights, Spike had sworn off trying altogether, throwing himself head-first instead into the one thing that couldn’t possibly get him in trouble: paying attention. He listened to them talk and complain, waiting for an opportunity to apply any useful skills to ease their work. After the near-disastrous hunt, Spike took Jet’s suggestion to heart, attempting to overhaul the Hammerhead and scrub it until it practically shined. However, the thoroughly thrashed craft fought back, and Spike appreciated for the thousandth time the skill Jet had at precise repairs. If he _ever_ regained Jet’s trust, he swore to show his honest gratitude, especially after almost gutting himself on the Hammerhead’s open claws whilst attempting a reconfiguration.

He worked through the night, struggling through the exhaustion until he managed a fair sweep of the Redtail as well. By then, the sun was on the rise and the ship was beginning to wake. He stashed Jet’s kit where he’d found it, only barely managing to remember what tools went where before slipping back to his room to tear off his sweaty, greasy clothes and collapse onto his mattress.

Spike held a vain hope that the physical exhaustion would be enough to dull his wandering brain, but the ghost of a sword through his shoulder jolted him upright after only a couple hours of fitful dozing. Breakfast that morning was a blur, but Jet and Faye were so focused on grumbling about the hunt that they didn’t seem to notice the multitude of times Spike’s face almost drooped into his food.

Coffee helped, so he started practically inhaling a pot every morning. He’d already begun the increased intake when Faye’s offhanded complaint encouraged a spark of motivation. Spike found it considerably easy to rise before her to brew a pot, setting it aside and vanishing down the hall before she even knew she had the need.

However, coffee can only take you so far, and it was inevitable that he was doomed to crash. And crash he did, almost straight off the side of the Bebop.

\----

It was the morning she caught him, still groggy after one of the most absurd nights of his life. Spike knew Faye’s game, with the overly innocent questions about her book and the fake fumbling, but he took the hints as a rare mercy and went on her little scavenger hunt all the same. The search was short-lived, because there were few places on the ship actually comfortable enough to read in, besides the living room. His gut proved efficient, because it was in the first place he checked: tucked on the lip of one of the curved bridge windows overlooking the deck. The floor wasn’t comfortable but he’d stumbled upon her once or twice, leaning against the window and idly staring out into the stars with a book forgotten in her hands.

With a groan, Spike plucked the novel from the floor and stared at it. He’d hoped for a longer search to distract him, but now all he had to do was leave it by her door and stare at the ceiling of his room until the world tilted too far or his eyes shut on their own. 

The smallest shred of curiosity tugged him to the floor, leaning against the window to gloomily flip through the pages. It was just some nonsense romance, all coy looks and _almost_ moments that made him gag. But Spike continued to read, vainly hoping for some hint as to what the _fuck_ would speak to her that wouldn’t make matters worse.

He stumbled upon a chapter detailing a long and painfully drawn-out apology, which he read out of pure desperation. On a whim, Spike tried reading portions aloud to himself, willing any of the words to hold meaning or weight. The more he read, however, the more frustrated he became; the words felt tainted and disingenuous, coming from his lips, just hollow pleading with little to no true substance. Gutted by the lack of connection, he eventually abandoned the chapter. The words just… didn’t feel right. They were just so wishy-washy and, more importantly, weren’t his own. If he was going to earn forgiveness, it had to actually _mean_ something, and it _had_ to come from him.

Although momentarily discouraged, Spike spent hours continuing to comb the pages, vainly wishing for a miracle.

That was the real reason he’d been caught with his hand in the proverbial coffee pot; he’d been trying for so long to decipher what she found _remotely_ enticing about one particularly descriptive kissing scene that he lost track of time. Bleary-eyed and too exhausted to speak, Spike had abandoned the pot to her, struggling back to his room to try and experience anything resembling rest. He managed to pass out immediately, but a few hours later and a bizarre dream of Faye smothering him with a blood-soaked novel cut his brief reprieve short.

Spike strove to avoid most contact that day, only looming long enough to feel Jet’s glare on the back of his head and hear Ed’s giggle as she rushed past him. A full pack of cigarettes in his pocket and sleep-deprived stiffness tight in his limbs, he withdrew to the deck, hoping the sunlight of Mars where they were currently docked would blind him awake. Unfortunately, it served to do the exact opposite. 

Spike tried to roll the fatigue from his shoulders as he smoked, sitting with his legs over the side and one arm leaning heavily on a cleat. He didn’t notice the heat’s slow effect, soothing his tired eyes and tempting them to close. The weariness crept up in a sudden wave, and his head began to droop forward against his will. He was warm, _so warm_ , and he could almost imagine he was in bed by her side, allowed a peaceful and mindless sleep for once in his damn life…

Ein’s frantic barking jolted Spike awake, just in time for him to throw a flailing limb out and grab hold of the cleat before he tumbled over the side. The surge of adrenaline brought the world back into focus, and he scrambled back, throwing himself forward to sprawl in a heap on the deck. It took some time for him to steady his breathing, and by then he was able to register Ein panting over his face, ears flopping as he cocked his head to the side.

_“You didn’t see anything,”_ Spike mumbled, rubbing his eyes as he rolled upright.

Ein barked in reply, nudging him sharply in the side and hopping nimbly away. The corgi crouched, his butt wiggling as he eyed the bounty hunter with what Spike could only describe as calculated mischievousness. As Spike struggled to his feet to walk away, Ein followed, bounding around his legs and barking before bolting out of reach. Spike narrowed his eyes.

“What’s _your_ problem?” he grumbled, shoving his hand in his pocket to retrieve his cigarette pack.

His pocket held his lighter and nothing else. Slowly, his gaze fell on Ein again, who now had the pack tightly clamped in his jaws. The corgi’s rear end continued to wriggle, and he eyed Spike, obviously ready to spring away. The bounty hunter slowly lowered himself to a crouch, trying to keep the vehement irritation from his voice as he reached out a hand.

“Ein, if you want us both to survive this exchange, you will give that back _right_ now.”

The corgi huffed around the pack, but didn’t budge.

“Drop it.”

Ein shook his head. His paws adjusted slightly on the deck, and Spike could have sworn he saw a twinkle in the dog’s eyes.

_“Ein,”_ Spike groaned, shifting ever so slightly forward, _“please_ just fucking drop it.”

With one last grunt, Ein let the pack fall with a wet _plop_ to the deck. The corgi panted happily, watching Spike as he snatched it up and began wiping the slobber off with his sleeve. The bounty hunter shot him a glare, which slowly faded as he realized what he was doing.

“I’m talking… to the dog.”

Ein yipped in agreement. Spike’s eyes drooped wearily to the deck as he lit his cigarette. He held the first pull for a long time, trying to ignore Ein as the corgi shuffled forward to lean against his side. With a sigh, Spike let his shoulders sag under the weight of his own fatigue.

“At least you can’t talk back,” he muttered, his eyes idly scanning the deck and eventually resting on the bay doors. “No chance of getting my words thrown back in my face.”

Spike sighed again as the last of his adrenaline faded. “You think Jet would kill me if I just tranqued myself to get some shut-eye?”

Ein squirmed under his arm until Spike’s hand rested on his back. With a light yip, the corgi nuzzled his side, eagerly awaiting pets. Spike glared down, before pulling up his knee and leaning heavily against it. “Yeah, that’d just earn an ass-kicking I’m too tired for.”

He took another drag of his cigarette, before idly glancing down at Ein. “Alright, fuck it. Any ideas?”

The corgi blinked up at him, before wiggling again under his hand. “Stupid mutt,” Spike grunted, burying his palm gently into Ein’s forehead. “What would _you_ know about earning forgiveness for things you don’t remember saying to the only people in the universe who give a shit about you?”

He sighed, pinching his nose wearily. “It’s still too soon, anyway. Especially…”

_Especially for Faye._

Every time they passed each other, she was either deeply lost in thought, or held the steady air of someone ready to rip his throat out at a moment’s notice. Spike knew she would, if given the chance, and stayed out of her path as much as possible.

Try as he might, though, Spike could never bring himself to avoid her entirely. It was magnetism, an instinctual urge to wander into her path, hoping that the words would form by the time he saw her. He poked through his memories, even willing some cringy lines from the novel to emerge, _anything_ to fill the stony silence between them. But one look in her face and the words dissolved, so utterly insincere that Spike was ashamed to even consider them. If _he_ couldn’t believe what he was saying, _she_ certainly wouldn’t.

So Spike would silently shuffle by, turning his face so Faye didn’t see how utterly exhausted he was. He’d already given her enough trouble; sleepless nights were nothing to the faceless damage he’d caused.

It was a strange feeling, being so tormented by the unknown. Spike’s life had always been a turbulent series of misadventures, to which he’d learned to calm his mind and accept whatever happened as it came. But this… this was his actions against others, ones he worked with and lived with and cared about him and made _aggressively sure_ that he was aware of that fact.

And who, he’d come to realize... _he_ cared for in turn. There was an imbalance, in both control and knowledge, in which he existed at the disadvantage. The only path to shifting that imbalance was to ask her outright what he’d said, and that would doubtlessly make it _worse_.

Why was this so hard? He’d apologized to Jet a handful of times before, always after having gotten himself beaten to a pulp for the thousandth time, but… he’d never _had_ to earn Faye’s forgiveness before. There was no reason or need.

Two ships, cutting their own paths, owing each other nothing in the vacuum of space.

And then in a fit of rage, or confusion, or terror, he’d lost it and taken a shot without looking, and the hit was visible from his position at the helm. Faye was quick to patch it, but the burn still lingered, and no amount of reparations in the dark made her eyes any less wounded.

Actions spoke louder than words, but it felt like his actions only earned pity, rather than truly bringing his message across. 

Spike pondered for the thousandth time trying to speak to her, but hadn’t it been his words that had caused this rift in the first place? What could he _possibly_ say that would be enough? Was it even worth it to try, for all the good his mouth had gotten him in the past?

In his heart, Spike knew the answer to that question, but he fought it, determined to voice his sincerity through his deeds.

Words couldn’t save him. It couldn’t be that easy. She was too smart for that, and he… 

Spike wasn’t sure _what_ he was.

\----

Two weeks passed and Spike’s brain was fried, but he retained his silent vigil, numbly going through the daily motions as he pondered what more he could do. Atonement was proving exasperating; no matter what he did, Faye continued to pass him by without a second glance. Her shoulder was no longer as cold as it was before, but it retained tension and hesitancy at his presence.

Spike continued his nightly roaming, preparing coffee like a ghost, maintaining the ship room by room, and running idly through conversations in the time in between. Each imaginary exchange followed a similar, disappointing train of thought:

_“Hey, Faye, I know I was a shithead, but I’m trying to do better.”_

_“That’s_ **_it_ ** _? Go jump out the airlock, Spike.”_

_“Alright, well_ **_fuck me_ ** _then I guess.”_

The conversations got longer and Spike attempted different tactics, but he saw no way of convincing Faye of his sincerity more than he was already trying.

One afternoon, Spike thought he’d struck gold at the sight of Faye’s figure poking out of Jet’s door. They were talking in low voices, and he tried to keep to himself, but the sound of his own name sparked his curiosity as he crept silently around towards his own room. He hesitated, straining to hear the last portion of their conversation, but the tension in Faye’s voice only served as a grim reminder that he hadn’t done enough. As he stood just in earshot, rallying his nerve, Faye finally snapped.

_“Sure, just be patient. It’s not like hell is gonna freeze over before that proud idiot swallows his pride enough to apologize to my face.”_

Head bowed, Spike finally retreated into his room, shutting the door and slumping against the wall.

_It can’t be that easy._

\----

Spike stared numbly at the door to Faye’s room that night, suddenly filled with a wave of regret. It’d been so easy to rationalize, as he’d stumbled down the hall after hours of thinking, but now doubt took hold and he couldn’t bring himself to knock on her door.

_‘I’m sorry’? That’s it?_

_That wasn’t not enough for her. It_ **_couldn’t_ ** _be. Faye was too much into words for that, and the romance novels she read certainly wouldn’t do him any favors. Her expectations would be impossibly high._

But in that moment, it was all Spike had. Two words that became harder to stomach, the more he repeated them in his mind.

_And even if he said them, what then? If she waited for more, what would he do? What_ **_could_ ** _he do? He was too exhausted to come up with more on the spot, and it would never add up to her standards, anyway._

Spike buried his palms in his eyes, wanting nothing more than to just collapse to the floor and turn to rust that Jet could wash away in the morning.

_No… he_ ** _had_** _to try. He’d made the decision, and he was determined to follow through. It was such a long shot, and every muscle tensed at the thought of making it all worse, but that didn’t matter anymore._ _Even if Faye didn’t forgive him, Spike owed it to her to fucking try. To prove---_

_To prove what? What did he have to prove to her? That he was living? That he_ **_could_ ** _swallow his pride? That her patience with him wasn’t for nothing?_

_… Some patience it was, if she insisted on not talking to him, either. After all, she’d been just as stubborn the morning they’d fought. Who was_ **_she_ ** _to judge pride, when her own sent her running off into space so often before---_

Spike bit back his growing indignation.

_It was his instincts again, pushing her away, and he hated himself for it. That wasn’t the fight he had to atone for. This was more recent, more raw, and definitely all his fault._

_He… he owed it to her to try. It stung, the possibility that she_ **_wouldn’t_ ** _accept the apology, but that didn’t matter anymore. It couldn’t, if he was going to mean what he said._

With a sigh, Spike steadied his resolve and started to raise his fist to knock, only to find with sudden horror that the door was already open, and Faye was staring up at him in surprise.

Spike almost swallowed his tongue, trying to regain his voice.

“... Hey.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spike reading the the novel aloud was straight out of Shadowcrest's brain, and it's a fucking hilarious image; I already had him flipping through but just... imagining Spike trying to say that nonsense aloud without jetisoning himself out into space gave me a Hella giggle, and I'm so grateful for it :D
> 
> Honesty time: I honestly thought of scrapping this chapter, but I'm glad I didn't. I felt it important to show Spike's side of the two weeks, him trying to parse out what he wanted to do and in a greater sense /why/ he wanted to do it. There's always two sides to a story, especially for these two, and the journey is worth it. I may come back to this chapter one day, but for now it is what it is and I'm glad with what it is.
> 
> All that being said, I AM glad to be done with this chapter bc the lack of dialogue Has been eating away at my soul and also I can Finally fucking get to them talking. FINALLY. DAMN IT.
> 
> Sorry not sorry for the second cliffhanger :D they gotta meet in the middle, what can I say?
> 
> As always, thanks for waiting, thanks for reading, and thanks for experiencing this world with me. Also Ein is valid and you can fight me on that ;D


	38. Prove it in the Daylight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title referring to the end of chapter 31, bc I'm a self-referential bastard who couldn't think of another title. Don't @ me ;P

_Well, shit._

Spike blinked, senses instantly heightened in a wave of panic-induced adrenaline. Faye studied him, her mouth slightly agape and eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and apprehension. His hollow greeting still echoed in the air between them.

Weighted by an unfamiliar feeling of vulnerability, Spike’s eyes fell to the floor. The words were frozen in his chest, and it suddenly felt like taking a toothpick to an iceberg, trying to break them free.

“... Well?”

Spike glanced up, steeling himself for the withering glare he was convinced he would see. Instead, Spike was bewildered to find the trepidation softened; Faye’s brows were furrowed, but it looked to be more from curious appraisal than annoyance. She cocked her head to the side, eyeing him up and down.

“What’s this, then?”

Spike scrambled for a response as his tongue slowly untied itself. In the back of his mind, the overheard conversation flickered like a beacon, and he made a desperate grab.

“It’s… hell freezing over.”

That was the wrong answer, apparently. Faye’s eyes immediately narrowed, and she crossed her arms, leaning heavily on the doorframe. “It’s not polite to listen in on other people’s conversations,” she grumbled, eyes shifting uncomfortably to the side.

Spike bit back a grimace. “I wasn’t… I mean… it’s... it’s a small ship?”

Strike two. Faye side-eyed him, her scowl deepening as she tapped a finger impatiently on her arm. “Not _that_ small. Do you have something to say to me or what?”

The center of Spike’s chest was growing uncomfortably tight; his panic was the only thing keeping him upright as his knees threatened to buckle from exhaustion and nerves. “Yeah,” he sighed, rubbing his neck wearily as he tried to regain stability in his legs. “Yeah, I do… look, I… I couldn’t sleep, and---”

“You _couldn’t sleep?”_

_… Fuck._

Spike’s confidence withered as he witnessed Faye’s temper go from a two to a ten in mere seconds. She glared daggers, dropping her hands to pump a fist at her side. Every word she spat called for his blood. _“_ You don’t speak to me for _two weeks_ and you finally got around to it because you _couldn’t sleep?!"_

Spike raised his hands defensively. “No, I… that’s not---”

“Is _that_ what this is? You couldn’t sleep so you come _crawling_ to me as a last resort, thinking I’d take you back if you looked pitiful enough?”

“No, of course not---”

“Oh really?” Faye took a step towards him, eyes ablaze as she sneered. “Now that I think about it, I’m surprised you lasted two weeks. You’ve got some _nerve_ , Spiegel.”

Spike groaned, shoving his fists in his pockets to hide how they trembled. The hallway was beginning to tilt, and Faye’s face was drifting in and out of focus. _“Faye, listen---”_

“Oh, I think I’ve done _enough_ listening to you,” she growled, cocking a hip as she continued to tear into him. “It’s your big fucking mouth that got you here, and you’re doing a _helluva_ job getting yourself out of your own selfish hole. You’re really good at that, you know? Making an _absolute_ mess of things and not having the _decency_ to clean up after yourself.”

“Would you just _listen_ to me?” Spike hissed, blinking sharply as he fought a wave of vertigo.

“And why should I?!”

“Because I’m _sorry_ , alright? I’m sorry and that’s not _good enough_!”

Faye’s mouth clamped shut in surprise. Spike leaned a shaking hand on the wall, rubbing his eyes as he fought to subdue his weariness. “I’m… I’m sorry, Faye. But… that’s not fucking _good_ enough.”

_“... Why not?”_

Her response was a whisper, a question he’d unconsciously hoped she wouldn’t ask. Spike lowered his hand from his face, staring down into his shaking fingers because he couldn’t bring himself to meet her eyes. “Because I… don’t know what I’m _sorry_ for.”

Faye huffed, indignation returning in a heartbeat. “You don’t _know_ \---”

“That’s not what I _meant_ ,” Spike sighed. “Look, I fucked up and I _know_ that. I… I know I shouted at you, or _something_ , and I can guess it was the shittiest load of garbage I could’ve imagined, but… Faye, I’ve _tried_ to remember and I just can’t. I can’t remember, but the damage I did is obvious.”

Faye shifted uncomfortably. Spike’s fingers continued to dig for traction on the wall as his head drooped. “It took two weeks because… I can’t _just_ say ‘I’m sorry.’ That’s not fucking enough for whatever it is I said to you, and I can’t fucking figure out what _is_ . You… you deserve better than a blind apology, but I can’t just _ask_ you to dredge it up, either, because then you’d just have to relive it.”

“... Spike…”

“You deserve better,” he mumbled again. “But this is all I’ve got. So… I’m sorry. You don’t have to forgive me, or even trust me, but… you deserve to know that truth _\---_ ”

Without warning, time stuttered and Spike’s own voice faded abruptly in his ears. It took him a few seconds to realize his eyes were closed; he blinked them open to find he was leaning heavily against the wall. The earlier adrenaline was gone, and suddenly his fatigue crashed down again, every muscle pleading for him to collapse. Faye had a tight grip on his arm to keep him upright, eyes wide with alarm. She searched his face, the concern rising rapidly as he shook his head in an attempt to clear it.

“Are… are you okay?”

Spike nodded, weakly blinking away the fog as his knees threatened to crumble. “M’fine, just… got dizzy for a second.”

“Spike, have you… how much sleep _have_ you been getting?”

“Enough,” he mumbled, barely regaining control over his exhausted limbs enough to push away from the wall.

“Un-fucking-likely.”

Spike took a deep breath, still trying to blink away the weariness as he focused on her eyes. “I’m… I’m fine,” he insisted, gently easing her hand off his arm. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve already been a big enough thorn in your side.”

Faye didn’t smile. “Spike, you look like shit.”

“Thanks,” he grumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Now… I… I’ll let you get some sleep.”

“... Spike…”

He turned towards his room, pushing down the hope that tried to rise at the tone of her voice. “G’night, Faye. And… I really am sorry. No matter what it takes… I’ll prove it.”

With that, Spike stumbled away, inwardly cursing his own weakness. He barely managed to pull the door to his room open as his eyelids began to droop again. His fingers gripped at the wall, and he was just about to turn to close the door when his knees locked, the room abruptly tilted, and then everything was gone...

\----

_“... ike?… hey… ake up… owboy...”_

Spike’s eyelids fluttered, his reflexes slow as a voice gently tugged away the darkness. Delicate fingers held his shoulders, shaking him.

“... Spike? C’mon, you can’t lie on the floor all night…”

_Floor?_

The feeling of hard metal against his back began to register as his eyes finally cracked open. He was sprawled on the floor of his room; Faye knelt by his side, eyes narrowed as she felt his forehead.

_“What happened?”_ Spike managed to mumble, shakily attempting to raise himself up on his elbows.

“You passed out, idiot,” Faye replied, taking his arm to support him. “I heard the thud.”

Spike snorted, rubbing his eyes wearily. _“Great…”_

“Efficient way to get a wink, if not the most _healthy_. Your head okay? You feel any nausea or---”

_“M’fine,”_ he said softly, accepting her support as he struggled to his feet. _“Just… gotta get to the mattress this time.”_

Faye managed a weak smirk as she helped him to the bunk. Through half-dazed blinks, Spike tugged the sheets back and slid beneath them, burying his face in his pillow as his limbs swiftly turned to lead. He shifted to the side, just enough to gaze up at Faye as she pulled the covers up to his shoulders. _“Thanks,”_ he murmured, already feeling his eyelids closing against his will.

Faye sighed, running her fingers through his hair. Spike fought to preserve the feeling, long after it retreated and he heard the door close, indicating the renewal of his solitude. There was little hope for a fully restful night, even after his apology. Spike nevertheless clung to the thought that maybe, just maybe, he could at least pretend she had forgiven him and his mind would be somewhat merciful. 

He never got the chance to find out, because in what felt like only seconds Spike was dragged back into semi-consciousness by a hand gripping his shoulder. He blinked blearily at the sight of Faye, kneeling in front of his face still half-embedded in his pillow.

“You were shaking,” she whispered, crossing her arms. “Is it like this every night?”

Spike shrugged wearily. _“Probably. Waking up’s not much fun, either.”_

Faye hung her head, eyes studying the floor at her feet. Spike watched her silently, struggling to keep his eyes open as he waited for whatever judgement she had planned for him. After a moment, Faye sighed and raised her gaze again to his face.

“Would you be able to sleep if I stayed?”

It was Spike’s turn to lower his eyes. He answered with his silence.

_Probably._

Spike lost track of time in the weighted pause; every breath he took held a mixture of anticipation and restraining the hope that clawed at his nerves. It was his senses that tugged him back to reality, when cool air on his neck indicated the covers lifting of seemingly their own accord. He tried to struggle to his elbows, blinking thickly in surprise as Faye slid into the bed next to him. _“Wh… what’re…”_

“If you can move, you can roll over,” she grumbled, helping him adjust until his back was towards her. “I’m still mad at you, so I refuse to look at you. But I… I couldn’t sleep, either, and I could use the company.”

Spike stared at the wall, momentarily dumbfounded as he felt Faye’s hand curling around his side. The effect was instantaneous; her warmth spread like a virus, calming his tense muscles in one steady, soothing wave. 

“Just get some sleep, lunkhead,” Faye murmured, poking him half-heartedly. “We can talk more in the morning, if and when you’re lucid, but for now you’re gonna fucking sleep. And _real_ sleep, not just passing out because you can’t out-stubborn your own body.”

Spike strained against a full-on sigh of relief as he felt himself relaxing for the first time since their fight. He still wasn’t exactly sure if this was real or just an _incredibly_ vivid dream, but it felt real enough, and he wanted to believe it was.

Faye’s forehead pushed into his back. _“Go to sleep, Spike,”_ she whispered, hand pressing gently against his chest. _“Just... sleep.”_

Spike followed the instruction, allowing himself to free-fall into the darkness.

…………………………………………….

He didn’t exactly have a restful sleep, but he didn’t fully regain consciousness either, and Faye figured that must count for _some_ thing.

She awoke around breakfast, feeling more refreshed than she had in a while. Spike didn’t stir when she shook him, so she shrugged and padded out to the kitchen to get them both coffee. 

Faye returned to find Spike sitting upright, swaying slightly and eyelids fluttering but not quite opening. In the dim light, Faye could see his shoulders shaking, and a feeble twitch contorted his features. Setting the coffee aside, she tentatively grasped his shoulders. “Spike? You awake?”

Spike didn’t respond to her voice, but the trembling slowly faded as she held him, and his chin gradually drooped to his chest. With a sigh, Faye eased him on his side, feeling his forehead to make sure he hadn’t taken on another insomnia fever. He hadn’t, so she withdrew, carefully settling on the edge of the bed to wait and quietly sip her coffee.

Time fell away as she watched him sleep, the feeble shaking returning from time to time. It only eased when she held his shoulder or ran her fingers through his hair.

Touch, the only guardian against his dreams.

The impulse to stay angry and the desire to help played a nasty tug of war in Faye's heart, until boredom drove her from his room to find a book. Desire won out and brought her back to find him incoherently mumbling, a grimace tightening his features. Faye shook her head as she sat cross-legged beside him, her back to his chest. She read in the silence, gently keeping herself pressed against him enough to feel the steady rise and fall as he breathed. 

As is the natural state of any long-term reader, sitting became a nuisance and she shifted, remaining close as she leaned on one arm. It felt nice, having an excuse to sit and breathe and let discontent fade with the distraction of her novel.

Though not an unfamiliar sensation, Spike's arm sliding over her waist nevertheless came as a mild surprise. Faye grunted, turning over with a glare as she prepared a scathing admonishment, but his eyes were closed and his face slack, totally still except for his breathing. Still unconvinced, Faye pried his left eye open. Neither he nor the eye responded to the stimuli; he was still thoroughly unconscious. 

Faye begrudgingly returned to her book, allowing the arm to remain under the guise that now she didn't have to focus on touching him. 

And besides… he was warm.

\----

Faye glanced at the clock for what felt like the hundredth time that day. It was getting late and Spike was still out like a light. 

She'd only left his side to eat and pee, returning to the same fitful trembling and relieving him almost instantly with her presence. During her brief excursion for lunch, Jet made a big show of grumbling when Spike didn't appear. Faye had shot him down, explaining shortly that he’d finally apologized and that _maybe_ Jet should finally show him some slack. Jet held his tongue after that, but the quiet, searching look he gave her made Faye uneasy, so she had retreated back to her book and exhausted bounty hunter who still, as of yet, hadn’t budged. 

Sighing, Faye struggled to her elbows, adjusting Spike's arm gently across her back as she searched for a more comfortable position. It was nearing dinnertime, and her stomach was beginning to protest. She contemplated getting a glass of water to dowse him awake when, just in time, Spike yawned in her ear. 

Faye couldn't help a small, relieved smile. _Finally._

She glanced to the side, waiting as Spike rolled his shoulders and his eyes slowly cracked open. It took a moment of thick blinking and squinting before he seemed to register his present situation. When he did, he froze.

"Thought you'd finally bit the bullet, cowboy," Faye said, idly pretending to return to her book. "You sure as hell _sleep_ like the dead."

Spike's arm retreated slowly from her back. _"How long?"_ He mumbled, rubbing his eyes wearily.

"Guessing from when you passed out last night, which would have technically been this morning… I'd say fifteen hours, give or take."

Spike buried his face in his pillow, moaning softly. Faye smirked, watching him out of the corner of her eye. "We've gotta think of a better remedy to your sleep schedule. I only have so many books."

Spike rolled his face just enough to gaze up at her, recognition slow to dawn as his brain continued to wake up. _"... Have you been here the whole---"_

Faye nodded, lightly turning the page even though she hadn’t read a word. "Mhm."

Spike didn't withdraw his eyes, but Faye did not miss the guilty reserve in his sigh. _"You didn't have to."_

She shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable at how close they were but unable to shift away. “I don’t particularly enjoy finding you passed out on the floor," she mumbled, absently dog-earing the book before closing it. "If reading for a couple hours will give you some shut-eye, then it’s nothing.”

“... It isn’t nothing. Thank you… for staying.”

Faye bit her lip, before meeting his half-lidded gaze. He looked dejected, to put it mildly, but the genuine gratitude was a stronger presence in his eyes. Her heart softened a touch. "You're welcome."

Spike nodded once, the corner of his mouth twitching as he pulled himself up on his elbows. His growing smile quickly faded as his stomach growling put her own to shame. " _Fuck_ I'm hungry. What's for dinner?"

"If Jet doesn't kill you for missing two meals, stir fry."

Faye struggled to hide a grin as Spike flopped back again, cursing quietly as he buried his palms in his eyes. "I might as well starve," he moaned. "Do me a favor and smother me? It'd be a quicker end than whatever he's gonna do to me."

It felt good to laugh again. Faye let herself do so as she poked Spike's cheek. "Don't think I haven't thought about it, but we've spent too much time keeping your stupid ass alive to kill you ourselves."

Spike’s hands slid away from his face, gradually coming to rest on his chest. He stared at the ceiling, brow knitting in thought as he studied the metal above their heads. Faye watched him, absently noting the edge of his collarbone peeking out from the neck of his shirt.

"... Thank you."

Faye rolled her eyes, thoughts still dwelling strangely on his shirt. "I know, you already said th---"

"I mean for saving my life. I… I don’t think I ever really said it before. Not really. Don't know if I was actually grateful or not before, but... I am now. So… thanks."

Faye was left temporarily speechless by the earnestness she found in his face. It overflowed in his eyes when he glanced at her, a softness and sadness more indicative of an apology. Spike held her in the silence with nothing but his voice and his eyes, simple gratitude no small reassurance of his existence.

After a moment, Faye regained herself and rewarded the sad look with a pinch to his nose. "Let's go get some food, lunkhead."

Spike batted her hand away, but she saw the relieved smile tugging at his cheeks. Faye slid off the mattress, heart swelling with her response to his sentiment.

_You're welcome._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Titles Are Hard. May Change Later. It Fits For Now.
> 
> My working title: fucking FINALLY. 
> 
> I've been stewing in this chapter for a bit, having bits and pieces of it mapped out for like a week and a half but never quite feeling like it was getting there UNTIL that Spike-o bastard decided to take the reins and thanked her for saving him. I think it's that little moment that made the chapter feel really whole for me, and I'm happy he wheedled that in. 
> 
> I also really wanted to make his intentions clear; he really Does just want to apologize, and it never occurred to him that Faye might interpret him incorrectly, bc they're both just... So Dumb. Faye's misunderstanding actually wrote itself, once I got that "I couldn't sleep" line in, and it defo gave me an evil writer chuckle :D. They're still bouncing off each other, because Talking is Hard and they're both too stubborn to understand the other fully, but this I think is the first step that they needed. 
> 
> I will say the apology isn't Quite over, yet. They've still got a certain... SoMeThiNg they gotta talk about, but this is a start that I'm so fucking happy is finally happened :D
> 
> As always, thanks for reading and commenting! It's sunny where I am; hope your day is beautiful and fun and don't mind me as I glare at the pieces I already have written for the next chapter as they frantically duck for cover. BASTARDS, YOU GET BACK HERE AND FORM YOURSELVES INTO COHERENCY!!!


	39. Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One apology down, one to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BEFORE YOU READ THIS, GO BACK TO CHAPTER 30! I ADDED SOME SHIT! (unless this is your first time reading, then never you mind this :P)  
> When writing this, Jet was giving me some grief about not having pushed hard enough, so I went back and reread the initial moment when Spike's shitfaced and snaps at Jet, and it felt... incomplete. He wasn't Just trying to push Faye away at that point, he'd devolved into pushing everyone, and I hadn't gotten to a place I was happy with, so I went back and added. It's not a Whole lot, but it's a significant moment that will lead into some stuff down the line.
> 
> That's the only thing I changed, but it defo matters before reading this chapter.

An enticing aroma wafted through the galley, the sizzles and crackles of frying vegetables melding in a mouth-watering symphony. Jet gave an absent flip to the wok, his free hand deep in his pocket as he stared into space. 

_He’d finally spoken to her._

_… Thank fuck._

Words could not describe the relief Jet felt that morning when Faye informed him of Spike’s apology. She gave no details, but some of the tension had eased from her shoulders, and that was enough for him.

There was hope yet, if Spike had finally managed to remove his foot from his mouth in a way Faye had been willing to accept. Now, if only Spike would do him the same courtesy…

Jet shook his head, banishing the hint of resentment with a stir and another flick of the wok.

No. There was no point in staying bitter. He’d decided to be patient, and he was going to stick to his guns on that. He’d make Spike work for it, sure, but it’d be worth the wait to get his partner back.

Partner…

_“Then maybe it’s time that_ **_pardnership_ ** _came to end.”_

With a sigh, Jet tugged the fridge open, plucking the meager bottle of soy sauce from the door and giving the wok a generous splash.

The word ‘partner’ had been used against him before, by a man he had trusted just as much as he trusted Spike, if not more so. Against his better judgement, Jet had let the inebriated threat dig deep, and now it festered.

_“You’ve just_ **_gotta_ ** _have control over every f’ckin’ thing, even when it’s none of y’r business.”_

Jet’s ideals kept him focused, kept him balanced and whole in a chaotic universe of chance and fate. He had to stick to them, to _rely_ on them for purpose, but those ideals had in exchange lost him the people closest to him.

Betrayal by a comrade corrupted by those they’d sworn to bring to justice...

Left by the woman he’d yearned to spend the rest of his life with…

All because of his need for order. For a rational reality.

For… control.

He’d done it again, the bastard. Gutted him to the core and read him **exactly** as he saw him. Even absolutely shitfaced, Spike knew what would dig under Jet’s skin and make him question his own logic, his own reasons for his actions.

The smell of vegetables on the brink of burning lifted Jet back to the present, but as he turned off the burner, his thoughts wandered away again.

Was this for _their_ good, or his own? Was he really just looking out for Spike and Faye, willing them towards each other from the shadows, or was he trying to simply regain some sense of authority over the people on his ship? 

He… he didn’t want to lose them, again. The back and forth had been annoying, but now… now it felt familiar, bad familiar, and with familiarity came sorrow. A lost brother and a lost love paralleled the lazy layabout and femme fatale, currently hurtling towards each other in a collision course that could very well break this family apart. This family that he’d worked _so fucking hard_ to keep together, now that he knew he wanted it; this family that fucking kept insisting on attempting to drift away again.

… Was he doing it for them, or for himself?

“Yo.”

The quiet greeting managed to break through Jet’s spiraling thoughts. He glanced over his shoulder at Spike, who stood silhouetted in the doorway, hands deep in the pockets of his sweatpants. That he looked disheveled would be too kind a description; Spike was a disarray of wrinkled clothes, groggy blinks, and an exceptionally disastrous mess of hair, most of it sticking up to one side. Dark circles hung under his eyes, downcast and shifting awkwardly across the floor. 

“Hmm,” was all Jet could manage as he turned his back again, rummaging through the cupboards for clean plates.

“... Smells good.”

“Hmm.”

Jet had the patience to wait, and even as guilty as he now felt, he still wasn’t going to make this easy.

Behind him, sighed. “Sorry isn’t gonna cut it, is it?”

Jet turned slowly, a stack of plates still clasped in his hands. He narrowed his eyes. “Do you expect it to?”

“... No.”

“Good. I’d’ve kicked your ass if you did.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Spike’s lips, but it faded quickly. “... I’m sorry.”

Jet grunted in reply, remaining focused on piling food onto the plates and acquiring chopsticks. After a moment, he gestured Spike forward. “Help me carry this out. You’re on dish duty tonight, and for the rest of time if I have my way. I’m sick of cleaning up after you mongrels, and _you’ve_ still gotta earn your keep; don’t think I haven’t forgotten.”

Spike nodded wordlessly as he accepted the food. Jet took the other two servings and was about to step past him into the hall, when his own conscience stopped him in his tracks. 

“Spike… about you being stuck on the ship… I know it’s a pain in the ass… but I couldn’t see any other way. I hope you don’t fault me for that.”

Spike snorted. “Fault you? For what?”

“For… controlling you.” Jet almost laughed, even as the words left his mouth. “Oh, who am I kidding, no one has the willpower to control _you_. But still… I know it’s not---”

“You’re just trying to keep me from getting my ass handed to me right when I’ve finally gotten back on my feet. How could I fault you for that?”

Jet turned, finding Spike’s eyes finally meeting his own. He still looked like shit, but there was a hint of the old Spike in his look, full of quiet wisdom in spite of his lazy persona. 

“Your ship, your call,” he said softly, gaze falling back to the plates in his hands. “Trust me, Jet… I won’t fight it. And… and whatever I said to you, I… I was just trying to pick a fight. It’s what I’m good at, you should know that.”

Jet didn’t respond. He couldn’t. Spike filled the silence, awkwardly shuffling his feet even as resolve settled in his voice.

“I don’t regret teaming up with you, pard. I never will. I want to prove that, if you’ll forgive _me_ for being a shithead again.”

“... You’d fucking better.” With a sigh, Jet tilted his head towards the door. “Come on; we can’t keep the girls waiting… partner.”

Spike’s shoulders visibly sagged as the tension bled away. Jet bit back a smirk and shuffled past into the hall. “So… uh… you and Faye...?”

“Don’t worry, I apologized to her too.”

Jet nodded, glancing warily to the side. “So you’re… better now?”

Spike shrugged. “As good as we were before, I guess. I don’t know.”

“... Anything else?”

“What else would there be?” 

Spike’s gaze shifted, eyes narrowing with genuine confusion as he met Jet’s searching look. The older bounty hunter bit back a groan. 

_Then they… they made up, but they didn’t… but last night, then…_

No. Jet wasn’t going to interfere. 

What he did _was_ for their sakes. He cared about them, but he would take a step back, now, and let them deal with it themselves. If they neededto talk to someone else, he’d be there, but… He’d let it be.

He’d let it be, for their sakes… For now.

… It was none of his business it was none of his business it was none of his business…

**_Damn it._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you don't mind a shorter chapter, but it is a chapter nonetheless!
> 
> This WAS originally planned to bookend the next chapter, but I was having trouble with a transition when I realized I didn't want the two sections to distract from each other. 
> 
> Spike-o fucked up. Spike-o fucked up Bad, not just against Faye. I'm really glad I went back and added that dialogue, bc it adds to the tension and Why Jet's so angry. Exploring that hurt #bummed me out a lot, but... that's how people grow. Exploring and learning and being like "oh holy shit communicating is good for relationships." ;)
> 
> Thanks for reading, and thanks for waiting! I'm just about done with the next chapter but because it's a doozy, I might be fiendish and wait a bit. I think I want to have the chapter after it prepared and ready to go, and get them lined up in a real way for posting. Also I did a lot of Deep Sighing writing the next chapter and knowing what's coming makes me cackle.
> 
> I'm evil.
> 
> :D


	40. The Poetry of a Moment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *jazz hands* I was gonna wait a bit to post but I have no patience! So here it is! Two chapters in two days!

Dinner was okay. 

Jet’s remarks were far more bark than bite, and that was a relief, to put it mildly. Spike let them roll off his shoulders instead of clinging to them like before, just to stew in criticism that wasn’t his own. He could feel the searching glances Faye insisted on shooting him every now and then, but he chose not to acknowledge them, in the off chance they returned to a scowl.

Instead, he turned his eyes towards Ed, practically inhaling her food and causing her usual ruckus. Spike hadn’t forgotten their conversation, her little white lie to hide the real reason she’d returned to the Bebop. Had she never been able to find her father? Had he _abandoned_ her? Was there some other darkness, something deeper she was too young to put into words? 

Spike was still determined to find out, but seeing her wide grin killed any ideas of asking her directly, and he’d only _just_ gotten moderately closer to Jet’s good side. The older bounty hunter was sure to know, but he’d doubtless use any questions as another opportunity to jab at his stupidity. Spike didn’t particularly want or need any more help kicking his own ass over his ignorance. Maybe Faye would know, but… no, he couldn’t ask her, either. That morning was no indication that she had fully forgiven him, only a temporary truce out of what he guessed to be sympathy.

_… Fuck, apologizing was hard._

True to Jet’s words, he left Spike to do the dishes by himself. Spike was too stubborn to admit it aloud, but he struggled: in finding the soap, in finding the scrubber, in deciding whether or not the dishes were clean enough. His pride hissed at the agonizingly domestic experience, but one thought of Jet and Faye’s pointed glares and he scrubbed on, fueled by determination to follow through. The tiniest shred of common sense stopped him from drying the dishes on his sleep-wrinkled shirt, but only just. 

Faye and Jet were already gone when he edged his way back into the living room, presumably off to bed. It was late, after all, and at the moment they were bountyless, so there was nothing for them to prepare for. Spike’s hands dug their way into his pockets as he shuffled towards the stairs, idly glancing at Ed and Ein sprawled on the floor. They were both plastered to the screen of the _Tomato_ computer, occasionally tapping at the keyboard and wriggling mischievously. With some hesitation, Spike changed course and stood awkwardly behind the pair. They ignored him, fully invested in whatever chaos they were inflicting in their net dive. He watched them quietly for a while, once again torn between curiosity and aversion to see the sad look in her eyes again.

_She was too young for that bullshit._

Eventually, Spike sighed and leaned down to gently ruffle Ed’s hair. “G’night, kid,” he whispered, uncertain of what else he could possibly say or whether or not he even wanted to be heard.

Ed’s chin shot back in surprise, and she gazed back at him upside-down. After a moment, she grinned. “Good night, sleepy Spike!”

His hand returned quickly to his pocket as he turned, grumbling at the nickname. “Alright, we’re gonna have to come up with something else that’s not---”

Spike jolted to a stop as a small hand gripped his wrist. He turned to find Ed, standing and still grinning, and was too startled to move as she threw her arms around his waist. She hugged him, swaying playfully before craning her head back to look at him.

“Chase the good sleepies, okay?” she said, eyes wide and smile broadening further than should have been physically possible.

Trapped by her arms, Spike continued to stare down in bewilderment. Finally, however, his arms regained movement enough to timidly hug her back. “Sure,” he mumbled as she finally pried her arms away. 

_Weird kid,_ Spike thought to himself as Ed tumbled back to her computer, grasping Ein tightly and giggling about who knew what.

As Spike trudged up the stairs, a soft smile tugged at his lips.

_Weird kid… but that was alright. The Bebop was a weird ship, with a weird crew._

_… This was where she belonged. Screw the past, screw the darkness. They’d find the light together. He’d help her with her past, just as she’d helped him._

_Ed was a weird kid, and that was alright._

\----

Faye’s door was open. He could see it, as he made his way down the hall. The urge to peak inside to see if she was awake was formidable, but Spike held himself back, instead stepping past as lightly as he could. Hope was a dangerous thing to wield, and he was still uncertain of their stance. Better to pass by and wait, wait for the right---

“Where do you think _you’re_ going?”

Spike glanced over his shoulder; Faye peered out of the doorway to her room, clothed now in her tank top and shorts. With a bemused grunt, Spike shrugged. “My… room?”

She crossed her arms, giving him a tight-lipped frown. “You that confident you’ll be able to sleep like a normal person?”

The wheels in Spike’s head were not turning as quickly as he would have liked. He searched Faye’s face for some kind of clue as to what the fuck she was trying to say. “... Not really, but I’ve got no other choice, now, do I?”

Faye rolled her eyes. “Lunkhead,” she grumbled, gesturing him back with a tilt of her head. “C’mon; I don’t want to repeat last night’s fiasco again, so you might as well---”

“Sleep over?”

The cheeky quip was worth the acidic glare; Spike allowed himself a smirk as soon as Faye’s back was turned. He half expected her to rescind her offer, but Faye merely cocked an impatient finger over her shoulder and disappeared through the doorway.

Despite some lingering apprehension, he followed her into her room, sliding the door carefully shut behind him. Faye was already curled against the wall, a notebook in her lap. She stared at the page, gnawing absently on her pen. 

“Whatcha writing?” Spike asked, shuffling forward and plopping down against the wall beside her.

Faye clutched the notebook, leaning abruptly away with a glare. “None of your business,” she mumbled, eyeing him warily.

Uncomfortable silence rested like a familiar companion between them, Spike twiddling his thumbs and Faye hiding behind her notebook as she scribbled away. Occasionally, Spike would glance towards her, hoping vainly to strike up conversation with a look, but her eyes were firmly fixed on the page, offering no easy engagement.

It took an hour of waiting before Spike’s eyes began to droop, but the idea of going to sleep without permission (even though she’d arguably invited him to do just that) felt out of the question. Instead, he pulled up his knees and leaned heavily on his arms, waiting and listening to the scratch of pen on paper.

“... What’s a two-syllable word for ‘irrational’?”

Spike glanced to the side; Faye’s brows were knit, deep in concentration. He tilted his head curiously. “Why?”

“Just answer the damn question.”

With a sigh, Spike closed his eyes. “... Spiegel. Also synonymous with ‘impossible’ and ‘asshole.’”

The scratching of the pen stopped. After a moment of stiff silence, Faye snorted. “Not everything’s about you, you know. ‘Asshole’ also has two syllables; you could have just said that, but it’s not a very helpful option, either.”

Spike buried his forehead in his arms. “Whatever. I tried.”

Faye chuckled softly, before poking him gently in his ribs. “You can go to sleep, if you need to. I’m not that tired, I’ll be up for a while yet.”

With a wary glance to the side and considerable hesitation, Spike nevertheless stretched out, aware enough to keep his legs angled away on the small mattress. He curled an arm over his eyes, not daring to ask to lower the lights or say much of anything at all. Faye had already shown what he guessed to be an insurmountable amount of patience; any misstep on his part was sure to break that in an instant. 

Now that he was horizontal, however, it felt as if any fatigue he had felt was paused, some inner demon playing tricks now that he finally had the promise of renewed sleep. It didn’t help when Faye shuffled slightly, her bare feet pushing under the arch of his knees; he felt her toes curling slightly through the fabric of his sweatpants. Spike lifted his arm enough to peer uncertainly at her. Faye shrugged, cheeks glowing pink as she kept her eyes determinedly fixed on her notebook. “Feet’re cold,” she mumbled half-heartedly.

Spike’s arm sunk back to his face, concealing the faintest of smiles. After some thought, he edged his legs slightly closer, so she didn’t have to stretch so far. 

The silence renewed, and the soft scratch of pen on paper mixing with the soft pressure of Faye’s feet under his legs should have been enough to lull him to sleep, but Spike nevertheless lay awake. He was all too aware of the lines of mercy she kept throwing him, driving him deeper and deeper into her metaphorical debt. It wasn’t just about forgiveness, now; it was about balance, about him giving back for all that she gave. Spike wasn’t satisfied with the idea that the silence was enough, so he did the one thing he dreaded most: he spoke.

“... I know you already said it’s none of my business, but… if you want totalk about whatever it is you’re working on… I’m listening.”

The pen hesitated. “... Promise you won’t make fun of me?”

“Yeah. Promise.”

Faye shifted uncomfortably. “I’m… I’m learning how to write poetry.”

Spike failed to bite back a snort, and received a well-deserved thwack on his chest. “I didn’t _say_ anything---” 

“You didn’t _have_ to,” Faye hissed, her cheeks burning red as she buried her face back in her book. _“_ Shouldn’t have told you.”

Raising himself on his elbows, Spike tried giving her an apologetic nudge with his knee. “Hey. I’m… I’m sorry. I was just caught off guard, alright? I’m… I’m still listening.”

Faye huffed, but nevertheless gave him a wary nod. “... Whatever.”

“... So? Which kind of poetry?”

She glared at him over the top of her notebook. “... Haiku.”

Spike tilted his head, scratching thoughtfully at his chin. “Sounds Japanese.”

“That’s because it _is_ , stupid.”  
  


“Alright, alright. What, uh… how’s it work?”

Faye’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you care?”

With a grunt, Spike pulled himself into a sitting position, scooting forward so his knee brushed against Faye’s. “Because I’m _trying_ to be a good listener," he sighed, adjusting to tug the blanket over her bare feet. "If you care about it this much, then it’s the least I can do to learn about it.”

He nestled his chin on his crossed arms, peering at her from the side. “So? How do you write a haiku, Valentine? Enlighten me.”

Faye’s glare shot from his face to their knees, then back to his face again. Finally, it drifted down to her book, and she took a deep breath. “They’re three line poems, where the lines are made up of five syllables, then seven, then five again. They don’t have to rhyme or anything, they’re just… three lines that go together. Traditional haiku were all about nature and shit, but I got stuck on that so I’ve been writing just kind of whatever to get the hang of it. That’s what I was doing… last night.”

Spike's eyes wandered away from her face to gaze at the wall. “... Write any good ones?”

Faye shrugged. “Who the hell knows… I keep thinking they’re good but then I read them back and they just sound stupid.”

“Can I read them?”

Her grip on the notebook tightened. Spike raised a hand defensively. “It’s just an offer; you don’t have to.”

Faye bit her lip, eyes scanning the page anxiously. Still plagued by obvious hesitation, she sighed. “Only _this_ page,” she muttered, folding the notebook in half and holding it out weakly. “Don’t go snooping. And don’t be an asshole.”

Without a word, Spike took the book, determined to keep his big mouth shut as he scanned the page.

_No past to speak of_

_Lost to the ice of my dreams_

_Indebted to fate._

_Pretty self explanatory, if a bit weak,_ he thought.

_Adrift in the dark_

_Stars, blinking night butterflies_

_The Bebop sails on._

_Melodramatic and_ **_far_ ** _too poetic for their mess of a ship, but the visual's… good. Probably._

_Not just a damsel_

_A femme fetale with purpose_

_Eater of men’s hearts._

Spike struggled to school his features as he felt a cringy grin forming. _Eater of men’s hearts? Really? Faye, come on._

Spike’s inner monologue continued as he read through each short poem, taking the time to count the syllables to familiarize himself with the structure and flow. Having no point of reference, he wasn’t sure they were _great_ haiku, but they were… readable, and it spoke volumes of Faye’s headspace. She’d obviously spent a lot of time, crossing out words and finding a better flow as she wrote. However, there was little… nuance. Everything was straightforward, few quite as effortless as he figured poetry was _supposed_ to be.

Still… she was trying. 

“... Well?”

Spike glanced up to find Faye staring at him, guarded discomfort heavy in her eyes. He blinked back to the page, nodding in what he hoped was an encouraging way. “They’re fine.”

“... Fine? Just fine?”

Spike shrugged. “Yeah, they’re good.”  
  


Faye crossed her arms, self-consciousness quickly giving way to suspicion. “Well, which is it? Good or fine?”

“What’s the difference?” Alarm bells started sounding in Spike’s ears, but he couldn’t decipher what the _fuck_ they were warning him about. Looking away from Faye’s growing glare, he scanned the page again for something specific to grasp onto. “Here, the… the stars line, comparing them to butterflies. I liked that. It’s… it’s cute.”

“Cute?!”

Spike rolled his eyes with an exasperated sigh. “What do you _want_ me to say, Faye?”

“I just want you to be honest. ”

“Well, I’ve been trying and you haven’t liked a single thing I’ve said!”

Faye snatched the notebook back, huffing as her face scrunched into a pout. “Look, forget it---”

“You write the world as it is, as you see it. Without the usual poetry bullshit, without sugar-coating anything. Just the world and who you are in it. Even the more wishy-wash… the more--- uh, creative _... elaborate_ comparisons... are still honest. They’re you, and it shows. If that’s how you see the world, then that’s… good.”

Spike folded his arms over his knees again, waiting for a biting rebuttal or a rejection of his attempted compliment. When none came, he continued, inwardly hoping he was saying the right things.

“I’m… look, I’m not sure what you’re looking for with all this, but for what it’s worth I think you’re doing well. I mean… shit, Faye, unless you’ve been holding out on us, this is your first shot at this stuff, right? It’s not all gonna land, when you’re doing something for the first time, but the important thing is that you’re doing it at all. I can respect that.”

Their knees bumped, and Spike glanced her way. Faye studied her hands in her lap, notebook forgotten to the side. Carefully, Spike picked up the book and balanced it between their knees. “What’s got you so interested in this stuff, anyway?”

Faye raised a shoulder absently, still twiddling her thumbs. “I want… I want to make something of myself. _For_ myself. Something worth making. I don’t know what, yet, so I… I thought I’d try as many things as I could until I found it.”

She raised her eyes hesitantly. “I know you’re just trying to be nice, but I already figured _poetry_ wasn’t going to be my thing, anyway. Too delicate for me.”

Spike shrugged. “You still learned something, and made something that no one else has made before; that’s gotta win you some points, right?”

Faye shot him a faint smile. “... Sure.”

Silence drifted between them for a while, each staring into space and their knees brushing occasionally. Spike chanced a glance every now and then, waiting for an indication of where her mind had wandered. Faye remained quiet, having retaken her notebook but failing to resume her scribbling. Finally, he sighed, swallowing a grimace as he counted syllables and formed the half-hearted lines.

“Betamax tape girl

Lost in thought or lost in dreams

… Where is she right now?”

Faye blinked up at him in surprise. Slowly, she narrowed her eyes, biting her lip as the wheels turned. Her gaze drifted unfocused to the side, and Spike could see her fingers, silently plucking out numbers in her lap. After a moment, her eyes darted back and she quirked a smile.

“Sitting on a boat

Next to a nosey asshole

Thinking… just thinking.”

Spike grunted. “That’s cheating.”

“What?”

“Yeah. I feel like that should be cheating.”

Faye rolled her eyes. “How do you cheat at poetry?”  
  


“You’d be the one to find a way, Faye,” Spike replied, allowing himself a grin.

_Finally, it almost feels like we're getting back to normal---_

“Why were you holding me that morning?”

_… Shit._

“We… we need to talk about it,” Faye mumbled, discomfort heavy in her voice. “No bullshit this time, no running away. Just talking… please.”

Spike’s body stiffened, his smile already faded in the stillness that followed. He’d been so caught up the past two weeks in earning their forgiveness and finding his voice that he’d practically forgotten _why_ she was mad at him in the first place.

The game, encouraged by an out-of-control feeling. 

A feeling that had… damn it, it had _returned_ , without him even realizing it.

But the feeling wasn’t the same. Before, it was slow and soft, sudden breathless moments and cheeky smirks following the warm darkness and quiet nighttime conversations. It had grown and thrived in secret, cultivated by his own curiosity and thoughtlessness. 

Now… heartache combined with heartburn, a fierce reminder that he’d tried to bury the dream, to kill it before it could grow and hurt him again. In the process, he’d hurt her, and it _gutted_ him for reasons unfathomable.

… Not unfathomable. Spike cared for her. Of course he did. That’s why he’d been so angry, so angry with _all_ of them. He cared about them too much to watch them waste their time, reaching out to someone not worth a damn. Yet time and time again, they’d insisted on ignoring his self-decided worth, and chose to dig him out of his hole with patience he didn’t deserve. Even now, she’d chosen to help him, to let him stay with an unspoken promise of rest from nightmares.

… He cared for her. But how? What was the word for this feeling?

… It felt so different to the golden hair and wistful gaze, yet… so familiar. Uncontrollable and daunting at how much he recognized it. At how much… he’d missed it.

“Why were you holding me that morning?” Faye repeated quietly.

Spike closed his eyes, in dread and resignation.

Was he just lonely? Was that all this feeling was? Gentle touches sparking a yearning he hadn’t truly felt in years?

… No. He knew loneliness. The isolation from the chase that lingered, even after the prize was acquired and the chase was over. This was the absence of loneliness, the hope of heartbeats that could grow together. Hope was a dangerous thing to wield, and even more treacherous to yield to. Yet… here he was.

On the brink of yielding.

And that terrified him.

Taking a deep breath, Spike leaned back on his hands, unable to meet her eyes.

_Test the waters. See where they flow._

They’d anchored in strange new waters, and what he said next could sink them both. It was too soon, much too soon to consider such… such feelings. He’d spent too much of his heart on a chase that nearly broke him, nearly killed him permanently. The chase had left a scar that ran deep, bleeding him while he slept and numbing him in the daytime, when he remembered her face and the effect she had on his heart.

But… for whatever reason, he still wanted to test the waters. Sooner, rather than later. He couldn’t let yearning gain too much traction if the hope wasn’t... mutual.

_Just… test the waters._

“It… helped me to sleep

At night, listening to… a

Heartbeat in my dreams.”

Spike bit his lip, unnerved at having to turn to the rhythm again, but they were the only words he had, the only words he could think of that felt true.

The silence between them was deafening, and he wondered if it was too late to melt into the floor.

After a while, he felt a finger poke his knee. Spike glanced towards her. Faye wasn’t smiling, but there was a fierce curiosity in her eyes as she studied him. 

“I seem to recall

That _you_ were the one who said

Dreams can have heartbeats.”

Their starlit conversation felt like centuries ago, but he remembered it clearly, as easily as if she’d breathed the words into the fabric of his reality. Spike’s soul echoed her response as it escaped his lips.

“You can’t hold a dream.”

Faye frowned, and her eyes fell to her knees. Spike hung his head, vividly imagining what possible new damage he might have caused with his thoughtless response. He’d tread too deep, tested further than he was actually willing to reach. “Faye... I don’t know. I don’t know why I was holding you. I… I just…”

“I won’t be used again, Spike. _Especially_ not by you.”

Spike nodded, rubbing his face wearily. “I don’t---”

“I’m not finished. I… I fucked up that morning, too, and it got weird and it wasn’t… It wasn’t right for either of us to do that, but I… look, I just don’t want to _lose_ you over this.”

Fingers that were not his own picked absently at his sweatpants. Spike leaned forward on his knees, watching through half-lidded eyes as Faye toyed with a frayed seam. “You… piece of shit, I liked our talks. I like your company, sometimes, when you’re not being a total asshole. And… and holding you helped me sleep, too. So… can… can we go back? Well, not _back_ , but… shit, I don’t know what I’m saying.”

Without realizing it, Spike had gradually shifted while she spoke, edging himself along until he was leaning against the wall by her side. 

“Please… can we just cut the bullshit and stop pretending that holding each other isn’t happening? That it doesn’t help _both_ of us? I… I’m so fucking tired of _pretending_. I just want to let it happen and let it help. You _can’t_ hold a dream, and I don’t want to. I want to… I want to hold _you_ , in the present, where you and I and the Bebop belong. ”

At her last words, Faye turned to look up at him, and didn’t move away when he impulsively wrapped an arm around her shoulder. Instead, she embraced him back, burying her face in his chest and grasping the back of his shirt. Spike held her gently, resting his chin in her hair as he closed his eyes. 

“... What are we, Spike?”

He held back a sigh. “Coupla fucked-up cowboys with shitty nightmares?”

Faye’s quiet laugh was muffled against his chest. “Asshole… what are we _doing_?”

It took a moment of quiet thinking, but when Spike found the answer, he felt it to be the truth.

“... Living.”

The fingers in his back dug a little deeper for a moment, then relaxed into a gentle press. Her desperate clinging turned into what it was originally intended to be: a hug. It was comforting, the innocence of the hug that held no expectations, no wants or desires other than to hold and be held.

Spike began to hum, a small, simple tune he’d learned or created in a dream a long time ago. He thought of Julia’s song, but this wasn’t it. It _reminded_ him of Julia’s song, but it wasn’t it. It was his own song, something to ease the heartache and confusion of being alive. To soothe the confusing woman he held so close. Faye kept her arms wrapped around him, quiet and melancholy and gentle. 

“... Ground rules.”

“Hmm?”

Spike glanced down to find Faye peering up at him. She shifted slightly, enough to pull her arms away but not enough to leave his embrace. “If we’re going to keep doing this… if I’m going to stay friends with you and not kill you, we have to set ground rules. Number one, no weird shit. We’re just sharing a bed; we’ll have to figure out what’s okay and what’s not okay later, but just… in general, don’t be a perv.”

Spike pursed his lips; he was tempted to bring up a faint memory of her hand, sleepily curled under his shirt, but he withheld the comment. Instead, he nodded.

“Number two… The _reason_ we’re doing… _this_ is that neither of us can sleep, but there must be a way to get better other than… you know...”

“Other than cuddling every night?”

Spike barely blocked the elbow aimed at his side. “Easy, Faye,” he said, grinning into her sour glare. “I’m just being a dick. Talking like this is a new thing for me.”

“Well, get used to it,” she grumbled, tilting her chin away irritably. “That’s what I was trying to say. It might help if… if we talked through whatever shit we dream about. That way, it’s out in the open and… doesn’t have as bad a bite in the dark. Maybe it’ll even make them stop, or something… I don’t know. Either way, we should actually… _talk_ about the shitty stuff more.”

Spike shrugged. “If you think it’ll work… sure. Whatever.”

“Good. Number three… if you tell Jet or Ed, I’ll kill you.”

“Likewise.”

Faye chuckled, shaking her head as she buried her face in her hands. “If they ever found out, we’d never hear the end of it.”

With a grunt, Spike poked her lightly on the arm he held. “Don’t worry, they won’t---”

\----

_Jet shooting him a furtive glance before dinner._

_“So you’re… better now?”_

_A cheeky, almost knowing grin from Ed._

_“Chase the good sleepies, okay?”_

_\----_

“... Hmm.”

“What?”

Spike shrugged. “Thinking… just thinking.”

_Nah. It's probably nothing._

Faye leaned tentatively into his side, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “... Is it okay if we just sit like this, for a while? I’m… I’m all brained out.”

“Whatever you need, Valentine.”

She abruptly adjusted to face him, her lips pursed. “… No. That’s not good enough. This is a team effort, cowboy. If you don’t want something, you’re going to say so. Please. Don’t just go along with something just because you're guilty.”

Spike nodded, calmly meeting her stern gaze. “Alright, then. Sure, we can stay like this. You’re weirdly warm, even in that skimpy shit.”

Faye glared up at him, but couldn’t suppress a smile. She settled again, her head resting easily in the crook of his neck. They relaxed against each other, breathing in the stillness and each other’s heartbeats.

Just two fucked-up cowboys, living in the present, where they belonged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the same vein of a hilarious comment I read the other day:  
> *Deep breath*  
> *Incoherent screaming*
> 
> The Amount of Deep Sighing I Did While Writing This Is Unfathomable. 
> 
> \- That bit at the beginning with Ed was originally going to be a half-assed transition just to fucking get him from dinner to the hall, and then Ed was like "nah i'm gonna be adorable" and I was like "okay go off i guess." Still working on tying up loose ends, and that was one that kinda got left in the shuffle of the apologies. I like how open I left this, and still gotta have that sibling moment for them. It felt nice.
> 
> \- Now. NOW. Bruh. Let me just say that I effectively blacked out while writing this chapter; Faye and Spike took one look at the setting and went Absolutely Apeshit and my fingers were just typing on their own. Gotta be honest, this is one of my favorite chapters I've ever written, if not the pièce de résistance of this whole work. The bickering? The awkwardness and miscommunication? The RENEWED communication and softness??? The Establishing of Some Boundaries?!?! *chef's kiss* fuck yeah.
> 
> \- So much of their relationship stems on their ability and desire to communicate. Yes we gonna have that cute cheeky shit of will they/ won't they, but they've both been so deeply hurt that while they're comfortable Physically (more or less), the Emotional is still... fragile. But damn it they've spoken to my heart that they're willing to try.
> 
> Now for a giggle fit from me, acknowledging the Blatant Venting I did in that "good vs. fine" bit because... That's Real Life, y'all. Fine does NOT equal good. Fine is "meh". Fine is not the same as Good. I just about died laughing when Spike said that of his own accord and Faye just about flipped her shit in my head.
> 
> It is the hottest fucking day of the year here at my house, but I FINISHED THE CHAPTER and the TRANSITION I THINK WORKED and I'm MELTING over these two fucking talking like adults (more or less ;P). Victory for the two fucked-up cowboys!
> 
> Thank you as always for reading; let me know what you think in the comments! Now you WILL have to wait some time as I write the next chapter because... well, you'll see.


	41. Endings and Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't panic.

Faye slumped against Spike’s side, her gentle breathing somewhat muffled by his shirt. She might’ve fallen asleep awhile ago, but Spike had long ago lost himself in his own thoughts. He replayed the days in his mind, the months since his rebirth and floundering existence. He sought to find a logical path that landed him with a night like this, with Faye secure against his chest and an army of emotions battling for his attention.

How perplexingly familiar it had become, to argue and misunderstand each other only to stumble into a moment of profound clarity and sincerity. Time and time again they bickered, in the life before and after his death, two comrades butting heads but still willing to fight side by side when it mattered. Now, they existed in a strange, almost liminal space. A world between worlds, morphing and leaning towards something mutually trusted.

_Ground rules?_

There had been no need for rules on the Bebop. That idea in and of itself was crucial to the stability of its way of life. They were wanderers, so many stars in a chaotic constellation truly worthy of infamy. 

Yet… when Faye asked to lay proper groundwork for this arrangement… without thinking, he’d agreed to her terms. Although he was hesitant, Spike appreciated the gesture; playful banter was far more appealing than the exhaustion of _actually_ fighting the woman. If boundaries kept the peace, so be it. It might be nice, to just exist again for a change. To let her hold him, to let it help… and in turn, to hold her back.

Spike’s eyes wandered the room, taking in details he’d always been too exhausted to comprehend in the nights prior. Months upon months, they’d shared this ship, and yet he’d never taken the time to really look around her room.

Most of Faye’s possessions were concealed in boxes and bags, or hung from pipes behind her bed, excluding the Betamax player balanced precariously on the clunky old monitor. A shopping bag with the highly-embellished words _New Moon_ sat at the head of the bed, one of many similar mystery parcels. It was strangely organized for someone as material as Faye, but it didn’t take Spike long to ponder out the reason why everything was so contained.

It made it easier to grab the essentials when she needed to leave. Nothing permanent for the girl who found safety in running away.

Spike rested his chin atop Faye’s hair, breathing deeply and consuming himself with her weight against his chest. Her words spoke of moving forward, of growing and existing and living beyond their pasts. To explore their pasts trapped in their dreams, in order to heal. When the sun rose, and they moved in the unforgiving daylight, would those words be reflected in her actions, in the space she took up on the Bebop? Could Faye really explore permanence, and not run when instinct became her only guide?

… In turn, was Spike ready to explore his own heartache? To break down his walls and relent to the care bestowed upon him without fracturing? To explore… peace?

The idea of peace felt so completely alien to Spike. Too long, reliance on his gut, on the chase and the desperate longing and the rage of a broken past had held him on edge, keeping him present enough to seek the high of being alive. It felt foreign, dishonest even, the idea of himself to seek the peace so readily.

But guidelines implied momentum, in moving forward. Significant enough time spent in the arrangement in order to bring them both sleep. Working together towards a common goal… that he could only imagine being comparable to peace.

Faye began to snore against his chest. Rubbing his eyes with one hand, Spike gently shook her arm with the other.

_“Time for bed, Faye.”_

Faye’s hands struggled for traction as she stirred, groggily attempting to push herself upright. Her blinks were slow and unfocused, still not fully awake as Spike edged away and led her to lie down. Before he even tugged the blanket over her shoulders, her eyes were shut again, and her gentle snoring resumed. Spike stood and stretched, stepping carefully over her curled form to approach the light switch. Before he could bury them both in darkness, his fingers hesitated.

_Dreams were worse in the dark._

Spike stopped the light at a soft glow, same as their first night so long ago. The first time they really and truly held each other. 

As he turned, fully prepared to settle into unconsciousness himself, Spike’s eyes fell on a ledge by the door. A scattering of small bottles glittered from where they lay, cascading from a tipped-over bag. His hands instinctively pulled into fists, thumbs brushing the pale scars finally beginning to fade.

A grim reminder of his humiliation, his absolute loss of control. 

_“I won’t be used again, Spike.”_

Nor would he. It had been curiosity that drew down his guard, and it was determination that raised the walls up again, at least in this instance. A childish game had led to disaster, a self-destruction that burned them all, one way or another. Spike had promised to do better, to do right by them, but he wouldn’t allow himself to be marked so easily again. In retrospect, the stupid nail polish felt like a brand, and held an uncomfortable weight now in his memory.

A reminder of her eyes, the regrettable push and pull in the tension of that morning. A reminder of heartache he’d been avoiding even as it returned to haunt his nightmares.

Guideline number two: talk about their dreams.

Spike had agreed so readily… yet there were some things he wasn’t sure he’d ever be ready to voice. He could delay questions, hope and pray particular dreams wouldn’t resurface for a while, but there could very well come a day when his guilt would break his rest beyond his control again, and she’d see him shattered.

Would he be willing to bare his soul to her, if she asked? If she pushed?

The visions of heartache shifted in the silence, poking and prodding at his conscience and toying with his feelings.

Faye wanted to talk through their nightmares? To air their dirty laundry and hope that it eased the night, to possibly even fix it?

Her optimism could not change his torn reality. Memory was no gift to a broken heart and shattered dreams. The pain seemed to fluctuate as rapidly as his world, having existed for some time as a dull throb only to return to the aching and weight that offered no release. 

Spike was falling again, back into the numbness and the yearning and the reminder of this damn feeling that somehow made the ache _worse_ \---

The night was too far gone for these kinds of thoughts. Spike forcibly blinked them away, easing the tension from his hands as he started to settle next to Faye. They were at peace, and he wanted, _needed_ that to be enough for now. For one night, this peace needed to be enough. Their future was unpredictable, uncertain and too bizarre to worry about, anyway. Spike sought to dwell on the sound of her breathing, the gentle existence that was the here and now.

Before he could tug the blanket over his shoulders, he spied Faye’s notebook, discarded against the wall in the shuffle. It was open to the first page.

… Curiosity kept getting him in trouble. He wouldn’t fall for the temptation.

… No snooping.

… Well it would be worse if he just left it open. He’d just close it, and be done with it.

Cautiously, Spike leaned over Faye and picked up the notebook. He was intent on keeping his word, to close it without relenting to his own impulsive prying, when his own name caught his attention, written in the inner sleeve with a thick line scribbled through it.

… Well, shit. One line couldn’t hurt.

Spike made a valiant effort to read only the words alongside his name, but his eyes accidentally flitted to the last line.

_I won’t be empty substance that you can hate._

Fully piqued interest and unease drew his attention to the top of the page. In red pen, Faye had written “Sonnet,” followed by a harsh and bitter scribble: _“tell Jet to go fuck himself later; sonnets are bullshit.”_

Spike’s smirk faded as he concentrated on the lines beneath, interspersed with notes Faye undoubtedly wrote while rereading herself.

_My life as a series of chance and fate,_

_Lost and stolen by the vacuum of space._

_Memories gone, I found myself alone,_

_Forced by my debt to make use of my face._

**_(_ ** ~~**_alright this isn’t SO bad_ **~~ **_nope it’s terrible)_ **

  
  


_Easy it seemed to let go of my debt,_

_Rely on self and run fast as you can._

_  
__But fate had other things in mind for me:_

 _The kid, the mutt, an ex cop, and_ ~~_Spiegel_~~ ~~_a dick_~~ _That Man._

**_(how come this bullshit has to rhyme? sonnets are the worst)_ **

_Bounty hunting became my strange new world,_

_Quick cash, to feed the race, to clothe, to eat._

_But what of Faye, what purpose can I reach?_

_To live, to matter past the ones I meet._

**_(This is the lesson.)_ **

  
  


_So I’ll make something, I’ll try to create._

_I won’t be empty substance that you can hate._

Substance…

_“Anything there about_ **_substance_ ** _?”_

Spike hurriedly closed the notebook and set it aside, grimacing against the memory of Jet’s terse jab. 

He knew in his gut they were his words. His stupid, forgotten words that still lingered between them. Peace was so fucking hard to maintain when his own words were a mystery torture that keeps coming back to bite him. He kept coming back to this, to being angry at her and guilty and confused all at once. There was no right or wrong, only a continuation of mutual mistakes that battered at his brain when he was awake and tore at his subconscious in his sleep.

Maybe he should try using the Alpha Catch on himself, just to fucking get out from under this fucking fog of ignorance---

A caught breath drew his attention. Still sitting upright, Spike glanced down, reading the tremors in Faye’s limbs and the pain in her face in a heartbeat. He eased himself down, aligning himself with her face and readying against flailing limbs just in case. Spike lay his hand gently on Faye’s arm resting between them. She didn’t respond, only continuing to tremble as her eyes wove rapidly behind closed lids. Waking her last time only seemed to disorient her, so he waited, patiently keeping the contact and hoping it anchored her in the dream world.

Just as he thought her shivering was beginning to fade, Faye began to murmur, her hands clenching into unconscious fists. They shot abruptly outward, clutching at his shirt as Faye’s eyes shot open and she gasped. Spike instinctively placed one hand over hers and the other on her cheek, searching her face in silence. Faye’s eyes remained unfocused, blinking and confused as she choked down air. She didn’t even seem to see him, as her breathing settled and eyes fluttered closed. Her fingers remained entangled in his shirt, but they lost their urgency in the time it took for her to calm down.

Spike kept his hands where they were, stroking her cheek and keeping a reassuring grip on her fingers. Gradually, the strain eased from her face, encouraged by the consistent rhythm of his touch. Once the last of the trembling subsided, Spike withdrew from her face, but held her hands still in the near-darkness.

Guideline number two: talk through their dreams.

Spike closed his eyes, musing over the rules as he listened to her breathe. He doubted she’d remember this dream in the morning, it was so abrupt, so he decided to let it go. 

They were bound to disagree on the nature of that particular ‘guideline’ when the time arose to _actually_ enact it. It would have to be reevaluated and clarified. Spike knew himself well enough to acknowledge no amount of puppy eyes or badgering would convince him to talk directly after one of his dreams. There was a raw power at night, anguish that drew on the darkness to feed its torturous purpose. Even in the daylight, it would take him significant enough reason to voice his inner demons, especially to her. 

Still… he’d listen to Faye if she chose to relive her demons in the night. If she needed the push--- ah, gentle assurance of his ear to her pain, he’d provide it. That’s what he’d agreed to. _That_ was something he could follow through with.

“Spike?”

His eyes cracked open at Faye’s voice. She gazed blearily at him, brow furrowed and still obviously half-asleep. The corners of her eyes glistened in the low light.

“Still here,” he murmured, giving her hands a gentle squeeze. “Go back to sleep.”

She nodded thickly, but her half-lidded eyes wavered, still trying to focus on his face. Her lower lip began to tremble, and she bit it, inhaling a hitched breath. “... H… hold...?”

“Yeah.”

Spike shifted forward, wrapping a firm arm around her side and hugging her to his chest. Faye buried her face in his shirt, unsuccessful in her attempts to hide her faint whimpers. Slowly, her arm rose to curl around his neck, and she adjusted to rest her forehead against his shoulder. Spike sighed, rubbing gentle circles in her back and letting her sniffles ease without comment.

Guideline number two could kiss his ass. She’d talk when she was ready, not forced to in the dark with her dreams still gripping her.

“... Th… this is for your benefit too, you know…”

Faye’s voice was quiet against his neck, soft and still a little stilted from her tears. Spike took a deep breath, remaining silent as he felt her fingers weaving slowly through his hair.

“I’m… I’m holding you, too. To remind you that… that I’m still here. That we’re _all_ still here, and we want… want _you_ to be here, too.”

To be wanted. To acknowledge and accept and live in the act of being wanted.

To live beyond the dream.

What would it be like, to be a man worth wanting, that _they_ wanted? Not different, they hadn’t asked him to change… only to live.

… What a strange idea.

Spike sighed, working his other arm under her shoulders to pull her closer to his chest. He retained his gentle massage, willing the thoughts away as Faye's breathing slowed. 

“Go to sleep, Faye.”

She nuzzled closer to his neck, reaffirming her presence in his arms. “We’re still here,” she mumbled again, her voice growing fainter as she drifted off. “... Believe it... dickhead….”

Spike smiled, humming softly as Faye’s quiet murmurs faded and her breathing finally returned to a calm, sleepy rhythm. He could feel his own fatigue taking hold, and he let it take him, his eyelids drifting shut and Faye’s words a strange lingering mantra in his mind.

_We’re still here. Believe it._

He’d never say it aloud, but he was starting to.

  
  
  
  


\--

_Don’t worry, space cowboys. You’ll get there in time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is in top five favorite chapters I've ever written, even as I have a bittersweet feeling going into this last little portion. I keep getting that satisfied sigh of "Yes. This is where I want this story to be."
> 
> Halfway through writing this work, I realized it my main focus was an emotional/ metaphorical Hero's Journey for Spike, as it were (if you aren't familiar with the hero's journey arc, look it up! I based a vast majority of the latter pacing on its concepts). 
> 
> His death and rebirth has been a painful experience of losing purpose, and lacking the self-worth and self-actualization to know what the fuck he's going to do with himself, now that the chase is over. I started mapping out where his head space needed to go, and the more I've written the further I delved into the uncertainty of each of their souls, but I knew I needed to 'end' so to speak on Spike. He's got a bit of purpose back, but he's still searching, still working on regaining life even if it's just getting bounties and living with his family. His AND Faye's journeys have fascinated me to explore and learn and even as I still work towards my end goal (the tag "Slow Burn" is there for a REASON), I must deliver them apart as well as together. Even those in love are separate entities; I want to do them justice by developing them first as friends and building a relationship that doesn't force them unnaturally into each others pants. If they get there, they get there bc they took the time and heart for it to matter. 
> 
> P.S. shout-out to ShadowcrestNightingale for a conversation that made me realize I forgot how fucking deep cutting the nail polish was. A bit of me wanted to let it go, let him forgive it a little easier bc it was meant to be a cute moment, but then I remembered Spike has this Thing about being Controlled and I was like ".... well shit. alright then, make it matter" and it DID and now I gotta keep exploring that hurt. I still think he'll be able to forgive it if they talk it out, but that'll take some time. But damn it i WILL do it.
> 
> (I've been implying it for a bit, but just in case): if this feels a little conclusionary, it's because it should. This is the second to last chapter.
> 
> DON'T PANIC. THE STORY IS FAR FROM OVER. 
> 
> Just wait for the next chapter.
> 
> Thanks for reading ;)
> 
> P.P.S. Sonnets can kiss my ass. Poetry's the worst. I did this to myself.


	42. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: this chapter is different. Like, REALLY different. I had to rewrite it three times to get it to the place I wanted. I'm nervous (scared shitless tbh) as to what y'all will think, but.... I'm ready. 
> 
> I hope y'all are, too.
> 
> (Edited 8/28; Janus was started in the year 2020)

The Bebop drifted, quiet and dark as its crew slept and the artificial evening stretched.

Far away, the sun was already high in the sky over the Martian city of Cassini. Named after the crater in which it was housed, Cassini city delivered the very finest in luxury and entertainment designed for those who could afford it. The streets of Cassini bustled with the daily activities of Martian elites and extravagant tourists; business flourished for the idle and wealthy, salons and high-end casinos intermingling with the finest spas and eateries known to Mars. A series of smaller craters scattered across the city limits held enormous lakes which served as an endless playground to the wealthy, athletic, and adventurous.

All was pleasure and play in the lush city of Cassini, but with adventure and play of course came boredom and recklessness, and with recklessness quickly followed the need for skilled physicians with exceptional bedside manner and extravagant accommodations to match.

Janus Hospital practically led the city as one of the finest healing institutions money could buy, though from appearances alone, one would have guessed it was a combination spa and resort. Originating from a family-run pharmacy dating back to 2020, Janus continued to market itself in the same light, providing the care and attention any family would provide with the additions of recreation and pleasurable recovery. Staffed by the bright and beautiful, the halls held not only luxurious hospital rooms complete with outdoor patios, but meditation centers overlooking the lakes, low-gravity physical therapy towers, and even an experimental branch, as Janus doctors were leaders in discovering the latest and greatest in medical innovation. Their focus was specialized sensory deprivation tanks, rumored to heal both body and mind. 

On this particular afternoon, in the heart of the hospital, Jay Cassowary examined the medical chart of a blushing young woman as she eyed him shyly. Barely under thirty, Jay was not considered to be an intimidating man, with softly rounded cheeks, gleaming gray eyes, and a playful mop of dark curls, but that was agreed by all his patients to be his charm. Combine those details with his confident stance and the sheepish smile always seeming to be tugging at his cheeks, any young person unfortunate enough to be injured while galavanting around Cassini dreamed fondly of being treated by the handsome young physician.

“Well, miss Alexandria,” he said, tilting her an encouraging nod, “looks like the fracture is healing up quite nicely! In no small part I’m sure due to the internal willpower of Cassini’s finest aspiring Galactic Olympian.”

The young woman’s blush deepened as she smiled gratefully. 

“Now,” Jay continued, “you mentioned to Setrina that you wished to stay an additional night to ensure the leg doesn’t suffer additional unjury. While as your doctor I can assure you it’s unnecessary, considering your exceptionally good health otherwise, if it would put your heart at ease we can certainly make the proper arrangements.”

“Thank you, Dr. Cassowary,” Alexandria replied, biting her lip with a grin. “And, please… my friends call me Lexy.”

Jay flipped the chart closed and shot her a quick wink. “Well then, the honor is all mine, Lexy.”

Her bashful giggle was cut short as she glanced over his shoulder. Jay turned to find a dark-haired woman, clothed in her security uniform, looming in the open doorway. She gave a tight nod, her striking hazel eyes indicating without words a clear sense of urgency. Sighing, Jay turned back to Alexandria and gave her a regretful smile. “It seems I am needed elsewhere. Setrina will come by shortly to confer with you about accommodations; remember, anything you desire is merely a button press away.”

Ignoring Alexandria’s immediate pout, he gave a deep bow and hurried past the guard into the hall.

The pair wove through gleaming halls and luxurious waiting rooms. Occasionally, patients or nurses called out greetings to the popular young physician; Jay took each in stride, patiently apologizing that he had pressing business elsewhere.

They made their way to the southeastern wing, past an increasing amount of security and down into the research offices of the hospital. Here, the world turned from bright and inviting to a more accurately clinical environment, where the further you delved, the higher security clearance you required. Guards here all bore on their lapels one singular decoration, embroidery of a cobalt bird with outstretched wings, ascending out of a pile of gray ash.

The guards were enforcers for the Blue Phoenix Syndicate. 

Once they were safely in the confines of the syndicate-only corridors, the woman at Jay’s side rolled her eyes. “Does that never get old?” she asked, tugging off the false lapel to reveal her own embroidered phoenix. “What a priss.”

“A priss that pays,” Jay responded, side-eyeing her thoughtfully. “I’m surprised, Yun, I thought she might be your type. Don’t you like brown eyes?”

“Brown eyes and _brains_ ,” Yun murmured, scowling. She removed the lieutenant tassels from her inner pocket and replaced them firmly on her coat shoulders. Away from prying eyes, she regained her authority in a manner of seconds.

Jay flashed a bright grin. “Not much of that to be found in _these_ halls,” he quipped as they passed a series of experimentation chambers.

“Especially not now. Eliott was ready to go apeshit when we received the call.”

“She’s still in the building, right?”

Yun nodded, eyeing a pair of idle enforcers until they stood at attention. “Just barely; had to promise her first dibs on interrogation to get her to sit the fuck down for ten seconds.”

Jay kept his eyes casually forward as they passed a room reverberating with the sounds of screaming. “So where did Herring end up?”

“ISSP custody. Idiot got himself caught by a bounty hunting ship… the Bebop, I think.”

The name sent goosebumps down Jay’s spine. Where had he heard that name before?

“Our contact in the ISSP only just finalized the details for Herring’s transferal back to us,” Yun continued as they rounded a corner. “Apparently the price he scrounged from that pod of yours wasn’t enough; he tried laundering on _top_ of theft, which was the only reason he got caught.”

They paused in the hall as a squad of enforcers rushed past. “We’re lucky the contact got to him as fast as he did. It’s been tricky business keeping this quiet, Jay.”

An irritated scowl washed over the young physician’s normally clear features. “It’s worth it. That Beta model capsule holds valuable data that I was _hoping_ to approach the council with, until Herring fucking sold it for chump change. On top of the disaster with the Red Dragons, we’re four months behind, stuck cleaning up this mess and hoping the council doesn’t hear that any of my research has potentially been compromised. That off-site testing was already a bitch to get permission for without---”

“Calm down, Jay. We’ve got him back, and we’ll get your missing pod back, too. Discretion has been an easy priority to maintain. The Janus enforcers know your work is delicate business, and they’re smart enough to know what happens if they spilled.”

Jay rolled his eyes but nodded, accepting Yun’s placating pat on his shoulder without comment. “Where is he now?”

“Still getting processed. It'll be another week before our men can actually bring him in.”

“Please tell me you didn’t bring me down here just to tell me _that_ ,” Jay muttered, but his complaint was cut short by Yun’s knowing smirk.

“Of course not. Wouldn’t want to tear you away from your oh-so-interesting conversion with ‘Lexy’ for simple gossip. No, I brought you down here partially to get Eliott off my back, and partially because one of your team said the Sigma patients were waking up and had some… interesting thoughts to share.”

A slow smile spread across Jay’s face. His eyes glimmered as they turned the corner towards the Sigma testing cells. “Excellent. Now the fun can begin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *jazz hands* *dripping in terror sweat*
> 
> Here we go! A.... a plot! The beginnings, anyway! 
> 
> I've.... NEVER been so invested in creating a larger story. Ever. In my entire life. My focus, I assure you, is emotional and romantic development... but what better way to test their boundaries and strengths than in a bigger plot?
> 
> Again, I had to write this three times before I was satisfied, mostly bc.... I've never had to figure out how much to reveal at first. There is a delicacy to revealing information, and I am So Fucking Invested in landing this right. The amount of information I have to introduce is..... *flails hands in a panic* but I hope I've delivered Just Enough to pique interest, but not too much to confuse. (As a general note, I WILL be focusing on the Bebop crew still! I just had to introduce some new faces that will... come into play at one point.)
> 
> The next arc Will begin soon, but I'm going to (try to) force myself to take a bit of a breather to really figure out the groundwork for how I want the next arc to play out. Things are happening in this brain of mine, and I'm again I'm eager to share but more eager to make it /good/. In the meantime, you may see some more Bebop art on my tumblr, and perhaps... name creations for some things ;)
> 
> As always: thank you endlessly for reading. This is arguably a full length novel, and my first, and it boggles my mind that I've been able to do this, but also FUCK YEAH WORDS ARE NEAT! Seek out some joy, and I'll see you in the next one!


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